Breakfast in LA
Another Day Along the Way
Monday, May 01, 2006
Another day,
I could write about the Azusa Street Centennial and its historical meaning, taking the story down many different streets and turns.
I could write about the songs, the sessions, the services, or the celebrations.
I could write about those who spoke or the many nationalities attending.
I could write about conversations with friends I miss, friends I will soon miss, or leaders I respect.
I could write about my new homeless friend who loves potato chips.
I could write about the passengers I sat beside on the endless flights between Orlando and LA, my speaking sessions, my long walks, my huge prayers, the Laker fans, or the amazing beauty across the country.
But I won't. Those were healthy experiences, yes. But I need to let you know what I learned from my new friend Max.
Max waited on me as I ate breakfast three days. Saturday morning-before I returned home-he did more than serve; he told me his story. As I ate eggs and bacon and fruit, I learned about revival movements and church history and global evangelism. His personal testimony became strategic; I should have labeled Max a missiologist and receive credit for a doctorate degree.
While he poured fresh orange juice for his student, Max told me of the man who explained the gospel to him and invited him to Jesus. Max thanked me because of how America sent missionaries to reach his native tribe. Deep appreciation showed itself through his huge grin. Max was happy. And grateful.
He provided information, explaining how his nation now has a higher percentage of Christ's followers per total population than America does. Max said, "Though I live here in LA, I go home often. Christians are everywhere in my country. And we are excited!" Before leaving me alone with my newspaper and donut, Max paused and said, "Now, we seem more thrilled about Jesus than you white men are."
Max -- the server -- taught me -- the preacher. I tried to read the LA Times sports section, but the NBA scores, MLB stats, and NFL draft picks did not interest me like they usually do. I kept thinking about Max, about his country, about us, about me. I thought about times I've been to his country. I wondered if I would, or should, ever return. I decided that if I go there again I want to take Max with me. Or let Max take me with him.
Soon Max returned again, filling my huge glass with orange juice for the third time. He asked permission to offer a suggestion to an American pastor and author like me. I said yes. Max said, "Mr. Maxwell, it is now our turn. We can go places you people can't go. People who won’t like you or listen to you will listen to us now. The way we look and the way we live fits better in the countries where people have not heard about Jesus."
"Max, what should we do to help make that happen?," I asked.
He said, "Trust us to now do for the world what you did for us."
He patted my back and walked away. I left, leaving a larger tip than normal. But it did not compare to the tip he gave me.
Along the way,
Chris Maxwell
Powerful Statement: Do you really believe in what you're doing? Or better yet, do you really believe that what you’re doing is part of God's doing?
(Leonard Sweet, Aqua Church)
Monday, May 01, 2006
Another day,
I could write about the Azusa Street Centennial and its historical meaning, taking the story down many different streets and turns.
I could write about the songs, the sessions, the services, or the celebrations.
I could write about those who spoke or the many nationalities attending.
I could write about conversations with friends I miss, friends I will soon miss, or leaders I respect.
I could write about my new homeless friend who loves potato chips.
I could write about the passengers I sat beside on the endless flights between Orlando and LA, my speaking sessions, my long walks, my huge prayers, the Laker fans, or the amazing beauty across the country.
But I won't. Those were healthy experiences, yes. But I need to let you know what I learned from my new friend Max.
Max waited on me as I ate breakfast three days. Saturday morning-before I returned home-he did more than serve; he told me his story. As I ate eggs and bacon and fruit, I learned about revival movements and church history and global evangelism. His personal testimony became strategic; I should have labeled Max a missiologist and receive credit for a doctorate degree.
While he poured fresh orange juice for his student, Max told me of the man who explained the gospel to him and invited him to Jesus. Max thanked me because of how America sent missionaries to reach his native tribe. Deep appreciation showed itself through his huge grin. Max was happy. And grateful.
He provided information, explaining how his nation now has a higher percentage of Christ's followers per total population than America does. Max said, "Though I live here in LA, I go home often. Christians are everywhere in my country. And we are excited!" Before leaving me alone with my newspaper and donut, Max paused and said, "Now, we seem more thrilled about Jesus than you white men are."
Max -- the server -- taught me -- the preacher. I tried to read the LA Times sports section, but the NBA scores, MLB stats, and NFL draft picks did not interest me like they usually do. I kept thinking about Max, about his country, about us, about me. I thought about times I've been to his country. I wondered if I would, or should, ever return. I decided that if I go there again I want to take Max with me. Or let Max take me with him.
Soon Max returned again, filling my huge glass with orange juice for the third time. He asked permission to offer a suggestion to an American pastor and author like me. I said yes. Max said, "Mr. Maxwell, it is now our turn. We can go places you people can't go. People who won’t like you or listen to you will listen to us now. The way we look and the way we live fits better in the countries where people have not heard about Jesus."
"Max, what should we do to help make that happen?," I asked.
He said, "Trust us to now do for the world what you did for us."
He patted my back and walked away. I left, leaving a larger tip than normal. But it did not compare to the tip he gave me.
Along the way,
Chris Maxwell
Powerful Statement: Do you really believe in what you're doing? Or better yet, do you really believe that what you’re doing is part of God's doing?
(Leonard Sweet, Aqua Church)
1 Comments:
This, as is all of your writings, is incredible. People from all walks can see Jesus through us if we let his light shine.
God bless you!
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