“You know, a couple of weeks ago I really hated your guts!”

Lovely.

Several questions hit my mind all at once.

“Why did this person hate my guts a couple of weeks ago?”

“Why does this person no longer hate my guts?”

“Why does this person feel the need to tell me this in line at the supermarket?”

“Who is this person?”

I see that some backstory is required here.  I was nineteen years old, and working at a grocery store.  My shift was over, and I was standing in line waiting to buy tasty snacks.  The woman behind me began to speak to me, and she opened her conversation with,

“You know, a couple of weeks ago I really hated your guts!”

There.  Now you are up to speed, and only as confused as I was at the time.  Remember, I was only nineteen.  I would not be a middle school teacher (and thus immune to such remarks) for many years yet.

Fortunately, the woman continued speaking, and allowed me to figure out what was going on.  You see, I had recently become a Christian, and I was pretty excited about my new life.  She had been a Christian for many years, but had turned away from God.  Somehow, life had harmed her, and she had blamed it on God.  This had turned into anger, and bitterness, and separation.

One day she had found herself in my checkout line at the grocery store.  As she waited, she heard me chattering (her word) with a friend from church, who was also in line.   As she sweetly put it, “You were so stinking happy about God, I wanted to puke!”

That’s customer service, right there.  You don’t get vomit inducements at just any store.

She went on to explain that, though I was oblivious, God began to work in her.  She spent several days hating me, even cursing me (delightful!) for being such a “Ninny” (again, her word).  Then, slowly, she began to deal with Jesus.

And He with her.

Now she was standing behind me in line, thanking me for helping to bring her back to Christ.

Uh…no problem.

If you are a follower of Jesus Christ, you are His witness.

Every day.

All the time.

Like it.

Or not.

Trust me; the above episode did not fill me with pride.  On the contrary, even thinking about it now gives me the willies.  Because really, here’s the question: How many times has God done that?  Or how many times has he tried, but I wasn’t cooperating?  For all the occasions when I have bumblingly “witnessed” to people, how often has it been my life that overrode my words—for good or for ill?

I have another story of being an “accidental witness,” but it will have to wait for next time.  For now, I’ll leave you with this question: Are you living your life in a way that proclaims Christ, even when you’re not “proclaiming Christ?”

In short, are you an accidental witness?