She was one of my closest friends. And apparently I didn't care that her eternal destiny was in question.
Actually, I did care. Julie was one of those rare friends I would call a kindred spirit. We were both the daughters of immigrants. We both had a heart for the poor, and often cheered for the underdog. We married into similar families. And we were both deeply spiritual.
The difference was that I was a Jesus follower while her belief system was a cobbled-together mosaic of karma, good deeds, and conflicting standards of right and wrong.
At first, this difference bothered me. Not because I was scared of her or thought she was a terrible person, but because she was so far from Truth. I begged God to show himself to her.
Lord, reveal yourself to her.
Jesus, she's reading a book by a Christian author. Speak to her heart!
Father, she's actually reading the Bible! Please show her you are the only way.
More than anything, I wanted Julie to know Jesus. He was the one I loved and I wanted her to love him too. My spiritual-conversation-opportunities radar was on high alert as I looked for moments to share God's beauty and grace with my friend. I felt thrilled when it seemed Julie took little steps toward Jesus.
But one morning as we laughed over steaming cups of coffee, I realized she wasn't getting any closer to Jesus. And I had a sinking feeling that I might be part of the reason why.
Shocked at my indifference, I pondered this revelation before God. Was I doing something wrong or was this God's slow timing? Should I approach her differently or was it time to walk away?1