campus courage.

Every couple of months, in college, I had coffee with a guy named Doug. He and his wife were the regional coordinators for InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. They were over-saved. I assume they still are. But they were/are also top-notch people. They loved God, and obviously loved His kids, if our coffee meetings were any indication.

I didn't know why, but in the midst of my partying, in between week-long drinking sessions, and awful sexual decisions, I would sit down some mornings, and send Doug an email. "You want to grab coffee sometime this week?"

He would say yes, of course. And we'd find ourselves in the middle of Innkeeper's Coffee, having an adversarial conversation about how any Christian could claim that Christ absolutely wiped away sin, if "sin" was a real thing.

It went pretty much the same with my best friend, Judy. She was the campus coordinator for IVCF, and she was not, thankfully, over-saved, but loved God with all of her heart. I would show up at her place, crying and drunk, at 2 or 3am. She'd settle me in her guest room, and the next morning, over an inordinately large glass of water, she'd let me cry and talk. I'd tell her the same thing I told Doug--it just doesn't make sense. I know I'm messed up, I know that something is wrong, I know that I have a strange call to God, but He just doesn't make sense.

Doug and Judy showed me love, albeit in different ways, and their love is not the only I was shown. On a campus that had little respect for Christ, or for Christianity, they were willing to reach out to someone on the other side--someone who drank and partied, and studied neuroscience, and hung out with all the people who called "bulls**t!" on their faith. Granted, I sought them. I wanted God badly. But they could have done much differently by me. Much, much worse.

As I look back, from faith, I'm so grateful to them. I think it's their love that sinks into me, that pushes me towards campus ministry. I remember who I was, and what it took to reach me, and I want so badly to give that to someone else like me. Those people never saw the fruit of their work with me, and I think that's kind of beautiful. I want to give that.

I've had a million excuses for avoiding it. I'm too young. I'm too old. I'm not mature enough in faith. I don't know enough about faith. There's no opportunity. I would stink at it. I'm not funny enough. I'm not serious enough. I'm not kind enough.

It's all ridiculousness. So I'll pray, and I'll try.

On a side note, one of the greatest pains I now know is that Judy no longer believes. When I first moved here, I grieved because I needed her faith, her strength. Now, I grieve for her because I know that she needs her faith. Please join me in prayer.