I’ve heard testimonies from reliable sources claim they came to Jesus in an instant, much like the Apostle Paul who was displaced from his steed by a sudden, blinding light. One moment they were dancing with the devil, and the next they were front-row in the heavenly chorus. God zapped them, pure and simple. Good for them!

However, I do believe they got cheated out of some wonderful transition time. Consider all the agony and insecurity they missed by not having to worry about the ramifications of changing allegiances. They didn’t get to sweat bullets. They missed all those pitiful, condescending head wags delivered by their contemporary pagan cohorts disgusted by such an abrupt transfer. New disciples shuttled aboard the Glory Land Express without first clearing Customs most likely missed their fair share of counseling sessions administered by elite representatives of the pro-death contingency. What a shame to miss such haunting memories!

The Holy Spirit is in our world, states the Savior in the Gospel of John
(16: 8-11), convicting us rebels of sin, our desperate need for true righteousness available only through faith in Jesus, and the pressing reality of divine judgment headed our way. Conscience is a God-deal.
Though the Spirit of God remains the greatest of teachers, some of us are slow learners. For many sin-mongers, it takes time and numerous trials to get it right. It is more a matter of process than procedure. When a person is hard-headed and hard-hearted, salvation often requires multiple attempts. Fortunately, grace is both relentless and patient.

God, I learned, will work with you if you show even a little interest. Even the faintest cry for mercy will garnish a response. God hangs around waiting for us to call.

During the years I crept toward His standing invitation, the Good Lord worked some miracles and pulled some stunts in my life. Every time I surrendered an inch, He took a mile. Every time I cracked the door, He came barging in. Every time I tested Him, He responded with more than I could handle. It took me awhile to realize He had my best interests at heart. I wasn’t used to such charitable treatment.

Shortly after our first son arrived on the scene, we hosted a child-warming party to celebrate our good fortune (all the while suspicious God had more to do with the bundle of joy than did good fortune). Friends and neighbors from across the board came to toast our good fortune (all the while hoping such good fortune wouldn’t strike their self-centered worlds).

At about half-past one too many magic elixirs, my sister-in-law, normally quiet and cautious, launched into an outlandish tale that quickly magnetized the crowd.

“My friend told me last week that her cousin’s friend was driving home from Spokane late at night a couple of weeks ago when they stopped to pick up a hitchhiker outside Colfax,” she related in journalistic prose without pausing for a breath.

“He got in the back seat with the couple that was with them, and he acted real friendly, and they started asking him questions about who he was and where he came from and why he was hitchhiking so late at night, and he wouldn’t really say anything specific, and they began wondering if he was a convict or something.”

No one interrupted. We were spellbound by her rendition of the shadowy character.

“Finally about a mile north of Colfax, he asked everybody in the car to give him a moment to speak, and then he told them he was an angel sent from heaven to tell everyone that they should repent of their sins because Jesus was coming back to earth, and there wasn’t much time, and we had all better get ready.”

“And then what happened?” we all asked at the same time.

“He disappeared. Vaporized. Poof. No doors. No windows. Just disappeared!”

Folks looked like they had been put on pause, caught in a still frame. Everyone was stunned. They weren’t used to God-talk. Our home, at this point, had never been mistaken for church. We were unfamiliar with supernatural hi-jinks.

One by one, our guests began focusing on me, communicating by their looks that the onus for halting this crazy woman’s narrative rest solely on my tongue.

“What a bunch of junk,” I blurted out. “Whoever heard of such a ridiculous story!”

I put everyone back at ease by shifting reality from spiritual voodoo to rural legend.

“I’ll prove it’s nothing more than some joker’s wild imagination,” I boasted loudly, fueled by too much elixir. “I’ll call the Colfax Police Station and get the straight scoop.”

It got people’s attention, and within minutes I had the dispatcher on the line.

“My sister-in-law has been listening to too many ghost stories,” I told her, “and I need you to clear up a little matter about a hitchhiker.”

“How can I help?” she asked.

“Has there been a report of a couple families picking up a hitchhiker outside of Colfax and then having him vanish into thin air?”

“No, sir” she said, “no official reports.”

I put the phone against my chest and reassured the audience there was no substance to the story. When I resumed the conversation, I was in the process of thanking the kind lady for her help when she interrupted me.

“But, sir, let me tell you this,” she said in a persuasive voice. “The only reason there is no official report is because there is no reason to report what everybody knows. Folks around here have been picking up this same hitchhiker for months, and he always says the same thing: ‘repent of your sins and get ready because Jesus is coming soon’.”
I think folks knew the conversation had shifted when the blood in my head fled to my trunk.

“And what’s more, Mr. Carlson,” she continued, “I think you would be smart to listen to your sister-in-law and get right with Jesus.”

Yes, ma’am,” I stuttered and hung up the phone.

To this day, I’m not sure exactly what happened, but I’m still suspicious it was God dealing with me.

Is he dealing with you in similar ways? You best pay attention.

-Ron Carlson

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