How will they know?

It’s misty, dark, and much too cold outside. I see her from the corner of my eye, on the other side of the road. She’s sitting alone in the dimly lit shelter at the bus stop. I pedal by at my usual ferocious speed, and barely blink before I turn the corner and she disappears from view.

Then something lurches inside me, the feeling indescribable. My heart deeply longs to reach out to her, to sit next to her, to ask her if she knows Jesus, if she knows what He did for her.

The news is amazing, and I know she hasn’t heard it.

The passion I feel is too strong to be my own. I realize I’m feeling the Father’s heart, yearning for her to know Him, her glorious Savior.

It isn’t the first time I felt like this, and I have prayed for a second chance. I almost turn my bike around.

But I don’t.

Why? Because I can’t. My culture says I shouldn’t. My fear says I won’t know what to say. My pride says I’ll be rejected. My head ridicules the silly idea.

And I turn the lock on my door, entering my warm and cozy home. I go back to my comfortable life, singing along to happy songs about God’s faithfulness.

Something isn’t right.

How will they know, if no one tells them?
The words echo in my soul.