Missionaries

 

I went to Walmart last evening to get 2 items: Cajun blackening for my tilapia fish and Old Spice deodorant for my … well, let’s just say for me.  While in the deodorant aisle, a young man struck up a conversation.  I noticed his black name tag: he was a Mormon missionary.  He said he was from Colorado, and his friend was from Wyoming.  He said that they stayed in “downtown Ringgold”.  I chuckled and said, “Those two words never go together.”  He laughed, understanding my point.  He asked me if I went to church.  I said that I did, but the more important question was if I were born again.  I explained that I was a Baptist with a little “b” but I was a born-again Christian with a capital “B”.  We exchanged one-liners about our respective religions.  I explained that truth was the most important point.  And where to find truth was just as important.  I explained that arguing truth was like arguing if a tiger were behind door A or not.  We both might have a different opinion, but the only way to find out who is right is to open door A.  Either a tiger will come out or not.  I encouraged the boys to read the Bible and find out truth for themselves.  I pray that they will.  I Corinthians 1:18, “For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God.”