Christian name literally Christian.
He spent the whole day at the cafe,
And every time he bought a coffee,
He’d share a table with someone new,
Boldly asking if he could join them,
Striking up inquisitive small talk,
Practicing his witnessing technique,
Proselytizing as cold calling,
Tail-wagging cheerful, full of questions,
Attentive, quick to pay compliments,
Working to get that guard down, searching
For an opening to testify
To his relationship with Jesus,
Transformative, thrilling, fulfilling.
He didn’t seem intimidated
By being on mostly Mormon turf.
It didn’t seem to occur to him
That among all the tourists there were
Not a few returned missionaries
Skilled in the art of cold call themselves.
Somehow he ended up conversing
With an amused exvangelical
About forty years older than him,
Who seemed to positively enjoy
The whole dog-and-pony show
As if it were all a novelty.
Christian was happy to be allowed
To pray over this old gentleman,
Who had been weaned on Pilgrim’s Progress,
A book young Christian hadn’t heard of
But promised to look into. Do that,
Murmured the old gentleman, smiling.
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