I remember the very first time I ever opened a Bible. I even know the date: August 19, 1972. I remember it because it was the day before I decided to follow Jesus. I took the Bible that I never intended to open with me to this beautiful, yet rustic spot overlooking a canyon where I used to get stoned. A Jesus Freak hippie had given the Bible to me and suggested I read the Gospel of John. Only this day I skipped the stoned part and read instead.
I can’t explain it, but it was the first time I had been engulfed like that in a story. I wasn’t just interested or intrigued. I was somehow inside the narrative – like I was there observing Jesus, who was reaching out to me through his words on the pages of this book. I couldn’t put it down or deny its draw on me. He knew me, and somehow I felt I kind of knew him too – in a distant sort of way. His familiarity with me wasn’t distant at all though as I could picture him looking right through me, identifying in me the real parts, and appealing to them. The next day I decided I had to know the Author and main character of this story in as personal a way as he knew me. Read more of this post