You ever have one of those days where you start off quite different than where you end up? Where you end up in a place at the end of the day that you never thought you would be at at the beginning of the day? Yesterday, my day started normal. Up at 5:30, shower, coffee, devotions, some quick computer work, pack up my stuff, and out the door around 7am. A friend called me and asked me for a ride home that night after class and I agreed. I worked all day and had a Eschatology midterm that evening. I finished it quite early and went to the library at school to wait on my friend. He showed up, asked if I minded that he look some stuff up real quick before we left. It wasn’t a problem. He also checked his email and discovered that an old friend of his, a “wanderng brother” was playing at a coffee house with his band open mic night. He asked if I minded a pit stop. No problem again.

Fast forward an hour or so and I’m sitting in a crowded, hot coffee house still in my work clothes (shirt and tie) listening to young teenagers pour out their angst at the world and it felt like I was looking in a mirror at myself about ten years ago. In March of 1994, I was a senior in high school. I had come to a place where although I claimed to be a believer, I was frustrated with the legalism I faced at school and the pride and arrogance I faced at church. I poured out my heart in my poetry and cried on a regular basis because I was having the worst time finding my place in the world. I looked up to Kurt Cobain who I saw as a lost, confused soul pouring out his anger and confusion through his music. Just a month later, he would commit suicide. Seven months later, I would find myself sitting in the gravel pit parking lot of Liberty University crying to God to save me because I realized what a wretched sinner I was. Now ten years later, I was looking back through the eyes of other youth who felt the same way and wanting them to know that I desperately care.

A few minutes later, I was standing outside on one of those cold Michigan nights watching the snow fall and listening to my friend invite the “wandering brother” to church once again. Of course, the brother made an excuse and we left feeling not much better than when we had got there. I took my friend home and thought about my day as my truck took me home. Where was I? Although I have often felt like I was spinning my wheels, I look back at myself ten years ago and realize what a difference that Christ has made. I am moving ahead. By the grace of God, I am.

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