Two or Three

Last night, my Dad accompanied us to the Harvest Crusade. It may sound like a simple statement, but you would appreciate the miracle if you knew our history.

Growing up we never stepped foot into church. The name of Jesus was only uttered in vain, and the idea of "religion" was something that was uncomfortable and avoided. God has really done an amazing work chipping away at my Dad's resistance. Our family has been through a lot the past five years, and I attribute my Dad's openness to the trials.

I was a little bit nervous about how my Dad was going to react to everything. The worship, the raising of hands - the "in your face" message of the gospel. He seemed to be enjoying himself as the evening wore on. He stood when we stood, he clapped when we clapped. I could tell that he was quietly taking it all in.

Then the moment came. Droves of people began walking to the front, and my Dad wasn't one of them. It was an awkward moment. I tried not to look in his direction, giving him a little bit of room to make the choice. He and I exchanged some dialogue during that pocket of time. We were laughing and joking about things - which is the best way that my Dad and I communicate.

Then, he said it. The phrase that just about broke my heart. "There is no way all of those people are making a decision right now . . . I could understand if maybe two or three . . . but not all of those people."

What could I say? My Dad's defenses were up and his cynicism seemed to be winning. My response was to lock eyes with the man who raised me, the man I love like nobody else - and nod. My silent reply was, "yes Dad, it is real."

From that moment on, I felt like I was back in the third grade seeing through eyes of doubt. Negativity was what I was raised in. It was my Dad's way of protecting himself, and those he cared for. We were coached never expect anything really good, because disappointment was inevitable. We were taught that we weren't qualified for the good things in life. A limited, defeating and strangling point of view. Suddenly, I became skeptical of what lie before me. For a moment, I was able to see through my Dad's eyes, and my heart broke.

We all left the amphitheater in a lighthearted and giddy mood - even my Dad. I can't help but to believe that there was something about the evening that my Dad let in. He may not have knocked people down to get to the front, but I trust that in God's perfect timing, he will get there.

Generations of anger, fear and cynicism - broken in this generation. Are you a first generation Christian like I am? I'll tell you, it is really difficult breaking patterns and strongholds that have been placed in your lap. The enemy is extra furious about the turn around of one. The Bible says that it leads to the blessings of thousands.

I stand today, believing that my Dad will be the turn around, not me. When I knelt to pray for him a while back, God's Spirit confirmed that my Dad would be saved. My response was an overwhelming thankfulness - and that hasn't changed. His salvation doesn't hinge on whether or not Greg struck a chord. It doesn't matter if the music was louder than my Dad would have liked, or that he couldn't see past the two or three.

God whispered to my spirit even before the first song began . . . "This is a seed planting night."

The wolves of discouragement knock at the door of this frightened little girl's heart. But she stands immovable, knowing that the Good Shepherd is on His way . . . ready to chase the doubt away for good.