If you read my last post, then you know about this coffee shop and the owner’s brother. You’d know that he had been heavily burdened on my heart and that I finally had the glorious privilege of giving him the gospel. However, I’m not content. I gave him the gist of it all but there is so much more detail I wished to go into and considering how attentive and interested he had been the last time, I had high expectations that I’d be able to dive deeper the next time I saw him. Number one way to be disappointed: Unmet expectations.
From the time I drove away from that conversation I had been fervently praying… begging before the throne of God to save his soul. I text friends and even encouraged any readers of my last post to pray for him and his salvation. Knowing people were praying for him and knowing the power of the gospel unto salvation, I had seriously high expectations. “Please God, let me have the blessing of being used by you to see someone actually become saved and not only saved but to watch them take root and grow fruitfully!” I begged. Surely, God will answer this prayer. The conversation entirely in nature and in content was far too out of the norm and far too grand to just go to waste. His salvation HAS to be the result of this! These were my expectations.
I didn’t go back to the shop yesterday, but I went back two days later mentally prepared to answer any questions he might have and dig deeper. He wasn’t there. Take heart… maybe he just needs to sit with those truths a while anyways. I’m trying not to go here every day, you know? But I want to come every day just in case he shows up! God is sovereign. Me coming or not coming will not thwart God’s plans, I told myself. I didn’t come the day after that but here I currently am… writing this from the shop. He’s here.
As soon as I walked through the door and saw him leaning against a tall table I glowed with joy! “Hi!” I exclaimed. He smiled at my warm greeting. I ordered my drink and sat near where he had been. He came over after finishing up talking to a friend of his but it was back to square one. He made his classic offensive remarks about complete strangers and cussed here and there. Of course, he’s not a Christian or anything, I knew that wouldn’t change apart from the Holy Spirit but for some reason I was a little taken aback – I shouldn’t have been. We began with casual conversation.
“I regret getting this drink,” I said.
“What? Why? What is it? Cold brew?”
“Well let me put some milk and vanilla in it for you!”
“No, no, I’m fine.”
I really just regretted it because it was $5, plus I threw in a tip so make that $6….for a 24oz cup of coffee. I like it but it’s not worth it to me. I wasn’t thinking when I ordered. I just knew two things: 1.) I was hot and wanted something cold. and 2.) I just wanted to finish ordering so I could go talk to him.
“Fine,” he said, “Well then why don’t you just stop f*cking complaining then… and the next time someone tries to solve your problems just tell them to f*ck off.” This sounds insanely rude, and it is, but if you know him you know that he wasn’t actually saying this to be mean. “Yeah, Jesus rocks…” was how he ended his final words, all spoken while walking away from me. As he said that last part he threw up a *thumbs down* and made a farting noise with his mouth, all to mock me. I felt a pit in my stomach and my eyes began to swell up with tears — not such noticeable tears but I felt their pre-cheek-rolling sting. I’m use to these comments from him but this one stung because it followed such a sincere conversation about God that we had had a few days prior.
All that prayer, all that excitement to have shared the gospel, all the prayer I had my friends doing for his soul and here he was, back to mocking my Jesus. The last time we spoke, he had gotten up with a smile and said, “I really like you!” Today he walked away with a smile, mocking the Jesus I had just proclaimed to him. I am discouraged. I try to take heart knowing that I don’t know what’s actually going on in his mind and heart and I can only pray that it’s a work of the Holy Spirit going on right now. What was it I was expecting? To see him in a corner with his face in a bible? No… I don’t know. Whatever my expectation was, it’s been shattered.
I have a grandpa who is about 85 years old. For as long as I have memory I’ve been praying for his salvation and I will never stop until he draws his final breath. This defeat is not to say that I will stop praying for his soul or encouraging my friends to, but my heart is hurting for his soul and I urge all you readers to join me in praying for him continually. He doesn’t know I come here just to see him, or that I only buy coffee as a ticket to be here just in case he wants to know more, or how much he hurt me. My prayer is that one day he will know God and I can let him know how much my heart was for him.