Column by Bro. Terry Ivy
“Be ready to give an answer” (1Peter 3:15) There is something about watching trains move down a narrow path through the landscape that ignites the imagination. My experience with trains has certainly had its own sparks. A couple of years ago, I traveled via train to Clemson, South Carolina. As usual, I asked the Lord to give me an opportunity to share the gospel with someone. Low and behold, at the next stop, a young man came on board and was assigned the seat next to me.
I began asking about his life to find out about him. I discovered that he was a tattoo artist that was featured on the television show “Miami Ink.” But that wasn’t the issue. He was a very proud and practicing witch doctor. We entered a fascinating conversation about life and meaning, and the discussion surged up a notch when he discovered I was in Christian ministry. You would have thought I had the Bluebonnet Plague written across my forehead as he viewed me with great suspicion. After about an hour of dialogue, challenging his worldview and letting him challenge mine, we entered an excellent heart-to-heart discussion about the claims of Christ and the need for salvation.
The conversation ended with him agreeing to read some recommended books I brought up in our discussion, and he promised to consider what I shared. His life was falling apart—with a divorce and loss of parental rights to see his only child. As he stood to leave the train at his stop, he turned and said, “Thank you for what you shared.” He had gone from suspicious to curious to inquiring in less than an hour.
Last week, Susanne and I rode a train through a portion of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Again, I looked for an opportunity to share Christ. A social elite lady from Atlanta, Georgia sat across from us. Her face was cold as a deep freezer, and her ‘nose in the air’ aloofness made me fear that she would drown if a rainstorm blew up suddenly.
The conductor instructed everyone to feel free to travel through the passenger cars to the food car. This lady smirked, “Couldn’t it be dangerous to go between cars? A person could fall off.” Trying to break the ice from her coldness, I said with a smile and levity, “Let someone else go first. If you hear a scream and feel a couple of bumps under our railcar, you’ll know it isn’t safe.”
She rolled her eyes, gave me a disgusting look, and turned her head away. I leaned over to Sue and whispered, “I don’t think she liked that.” Sue responded, “No, she didn’t. She doesn’t recognize your sense of humor.” Needless to say, every attempt at conversation went nowhere. But I did uncover that she was from Wisconsin. Now, I’m not against people from the badger state, but I have found that most folks born above the Mason-Dixon line do not understand Southern humor. It must be from the lack of grits and sweet tea!
Next time I ride a train, I will continue to pray for opportunities. And, if I get to pick, I know which one I’ll take if the choice is between… A Witch Doctor and A Yankee Lady!
