I was sitting with my refugee friend {Justus} on the steps just outside of Shiloh.. about a month ago. Between puffs on his cigarette, he told me stories about his life in Burundi. Seeing the cross around my neck, he told me that he didn’t have what it took to follow my God and, like a child losing a T-Ball game, confessed that Christianity was for “perfect folks” and God wouldn’t take a screw-up like him.
I told him that the kind of God he had been shown wouldn’t have me either.
God, however, calls the clumsiest of the clumsy and believes they have what it takes to follow him.
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