Ambassador

It is hard to believe, almost painfully hard, that I can lead someone to life. I can communicate with real eternal souls. I can speak words that have meanings. I can point to the object of faith. People, living souls, come and trust me as a teacher. There are two boys, Wada and Tshophang, who would trust every word I say. They have come to me almost willing to place their souls into my hands. This terrifies me, and I am quick to tell them no. My instinct is to cast their trust off of me. To throw it away as you would a hot coal. I've questioned how this could be: how I could be expected to lead eternal souls towards the object of faith, how something as broken as me--me who, apart from the blood of Christ, am the very definition of profanity--how these profane lips are entrusted with the task of leading one towards the object of faith, that is, towards salvation, truth, life, and--in a name--the person of Jesus Christ, the object of Christian faith. The weight of this reality is almost painfully hard to accept, yet it leaves my heart with a flutter of excitement. It is something that is inside me that I can't deny. Even if I tried to ignore it, which my flesh often has, I find myself compelled to share the object of my faith, the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Am I faithful to share it? What a silly question. Am I faithful in anything? Am I human or am I God? No, I have always failed to share it as I should, but I always find myself driven and pushed to share it, as if an external force would not allow me to keep my mouth shut. It is something that I must share, or else I will be driven to madness. And so I welcome those who would hear. I plead with them. I direct their trust toward the mouth of God, and not my own. I pray that they would catch a glimpse of the object of faith, and when they see Him, that they would cling to Him and continue there for all eternity.