“Taxi!” The time and appeal of my lunch appointment made it an invincible priority. That’s when a young man approached and began telling me his story.

“Great, another guy who just wants money from me,” I thought to myself.

“I’m sorry, man, I can’t help you,” I interjected, staring over his shoulder at the approaching taxi. “I’ll pray for you.”

I jumped in and nodded goodbye, glad to have so easily avoided another beggar. Only I could not avoid the Spirit who crowded the back seat with me. His disappointment was in my marrow. I had treated that young man like a stray dog.

My heart was divided throughout lunch. It had unnerved me just enough to breathe-pray for a second chance. But I knew the odds of meeting the young man again were one in nine million.

As our group finished lunch, I heard someone call out to me on the sidewalk. It was him. And he was just as surprised as me. I ran to him. He said, “When I first saw you, I thought that you were a Christian and that I could talk to you.”

Ouch.  

He wasn’t searching for money, but for another follower of Jesus. He had, in fact, began following him only weeks before. Too encouraged to remain ashamed, I gave him a Bible and we prayed together.

On that day, we both walked away pondering the Sovereign of second chances.