The next month, my Grandma told me Mr. Spencer had written about our encounter in his newsletter. I don't remember caring a whole lot and by then was probably already back to my old ways but I've never forgotten about his newsletter either. As I grew in my relationship with Christ, I began to get more and more curious as to what it was he wrote about me.
I was speaking of Mr. Spencer this past weekend with some friends and it got me thinking. I began to wonder if I could contact him and get a copy of his writing. It was nearly 18 years ago for one, and for two he would have to remember something about it to be able to recall it. "What are the chances of that," I asked myself. Well, yesterday I decided to give it a shot. I looked him up, shot him an email briefly describing our encounter and had a response from him within a few hours.
He recalled that night vividly! He said he wept when he wrote it and he wept when he revisited it yesterday just seeing God at work! I know I've said this before but when God writes a story, He writes a story! Now I can look back on a day in my life and gain heavenly perspective written by a mere human who dared to be the hands and feet of God in my own life. The story immediately dropped me back into the dark place I resided in at the time, but more than that, it filled me with overwhelming joy at God's redemptive powers and the restoration he provides in our lives regardless of how many times we fall or how broken we are.
Take a peek into a day in my teenage life written by James Spencer, author, speaker, hands and feet of Jesus:
The turn out in Twin Falls was small and the audience was tired. So was I. Have you ever tried to dig up concrete?
Don’t get me wrong, these were good people in a good church with a good pastor. But it was hard that Sunday night just this past month.
Before the meeting a woman came up to me, escorted by two teen-age girls. “I saw you when you were in Buhl,” the woman said. One of the girls obviously was her daughter. The other one hung back and looked at the floor.
As I began to preach my prepared text, I was struck by how bored we all were. The congregation was bored, the pastor was bored, and I was bored.
That’s when I knew something was up.
See, I am not bored about preaching the gospel. Neither is the pastor nor his people. But that night we were. Hello?
When the kitchen sink comes flying through the window—when the devil is working overtime—its time to get excited! Something is up. Opportunity is afoot.
I didn’t know what was up. But I have been preaching long enough to know when to shift gears. I began to pray in the Spirit, even as I preached. What’s going on here, Lord? What are you trying to do? Where should I go?
I began shuffling the deck. Searching the faces of the people as I allowed God to move me through several ideas in rapid succession. I was fishing. I was looking for direction. Then it came.
I saw the young girl in the back, sitting hunched over, face to the floor. The devil wants to keep her in bondage!
I swung into a salvation message. At that point I didn’t care about anybody else in the meeting. Although I didn’t look at her, I preached to her. (Nothing obvious, no one in the room knew what was going on. I doubt that even she knew I was focusing on her.)
You was unmoved by my preaching. However, the congregation woke up. I woke up.
The pastor looked at me like he knew I suddenly knew where I was going.
When I gave the altar call, several responded, but not my girl. I prolonged the invitation. “Don’t let this moment pass. Don’t leave here and allow the sensitivity you are feeling in your heart dissolve away.”
Still nothing. Eventually I had to bring the meeting to a close.
However, the pastor and I (who work very closely together in the Spirit) both knew the meeting wasn’t over. He led the congregation in a couple more choruses.
He called a man out of the congregation and we prayed for him. We prayed for a family in which the grandparents were raising three grandchildren because the mother was unable to do so at this time in her life. As we prayed for the children, they began to weep.
Suddenly, I had eyes in the back of my head. What I mean is that in the Spirit, I saw my teen-age girl who was seated several rows behind where I was standing. I turned around and she was still sitting with her face lowered to the floor.
Do you know you can be in the flesh, even at these moments? I knew I should go back to where she was. The draw was almost irresistible. Is it just my pastor’s heart? Will I make the situation even worse by publicly embarrassing her? Will I simply harden her to further ministry?
I walked back to her and said, “Miss, stand up.” She stood up but looked at the floor. Is she a hard case?
“Miss,” I said. “Have you accepted Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior in your life?”
She shook her head.
“Would you like to do so?” I asked.
She looked at me for a long moment and then said, almost inaudibly, “I said I wouldn’t do that.”
Said it to whom? Said it to me? Said it to God? Herself?
“I didn’t ask you that,” I said. “I asked you if you wanted to accept Christ. Do you want to do that?”
Tears came to her eyes. She nodded her head.
“Why are you afraid? I asked.
She didn’t know.
“Is it because someone in your family will be unhappy with you?
Apparently not.
“Can I pray with you?”
Yep, I could. And I did. And she broke and wept and fell into my arms. And I broke and wept—and am weeping now as I write these words…
Listen, God wants to send me to lost people to bring them His message of reconciliation. He sends me in seminars, in books, and through radio and television.
Why am I telling you this? Because I can’t go unless you send me. Please send me. How much is the soul of a teen-ager worth?
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