mr. lipman…

It’s as if God has been following me all week, a nervous chuckle escaped from him as he reached for his orange juice. I nodded an affirmative nod and scrunched me nose with excitement.

Turbulence forced us to be restricted to our seats on our short flight into Orange County airport. So there we were. Me. Mr. Lipman. And God.

Evangelism is one of those things I leave for the super-Christians; Billy Graham, Paul the Apostle, my Dad. We all know those people who freely speak about their faith and within the time between explaining the four spiritual laws and saying goodbye, skeptics turn into believers.

I, on the other hand, was told as a child not to talk to strangers. I still use this excuse when speaking about my faith. Lame, I know.

The boldness I have in preaching the gospel comes from the freedom of knowing that the person who is listening, wants to. I have full reign to drop it like it’s hot and talk about Jesus like the Master Blaster He is.

But proselytizing on corners or door-to-door has never been my thing; it feels like I’m pimping out my religious beliefs. God doesn’t need me to display His glory… but does He want me to?

Shaking the ice cubes around in my small plastic cup, I nervously confessed I have always been intrigued with Jewish culture since I was eight, that I’ve been to Israel five times, and I swore after reading The Diary of Anne Frank that I would marry a Jewish boy because Jesus was Jewish and I wanted to be related to Him.

He laughed—paused—then sighed a long sigh.

He shook the ice cubes around in his small plastic cup and quietly confessed about hiding about his Jewish heritage growing up. He was embarrassed he wasn’t Catholic like the other kids and didn’t have a last name ending with the letter i like Cannelli, Mazarri, or Ponti. He never went to Hebrew school, had a bar mitzvah, or visited the Holy Land. As I shared with him about Israel, the honor of being God’s “chosen”, and the amazing hummus they serve for breakfast.

For the first time ever, he said staring at his empty cup, I’m proud to be a Jew.

I invited him to come to Israel with me and the next trip I lead. He thanked me and I corrected him, No, Mr. Lipman. It’s toda roba—it means thank you in Hebrew. He humored me and repeated it and thanked me for showing him how to love God and be proud of his heritage.

Mr. Lipman will probably never read this, remember my name, or what I drank on the flight. But he’ll remember that God followed him all week. God sought him out. God used his east coast co-worker, a letter from a friend, and a crazy girl on a flight into Orange County to remind him he is chosen, loved, and blessed to be part of a royal heritage.

Maybe some famous evangelist will come along and share the four spiritual laws with Mr. Lipman. But until then, I planted a seed. And took a step of faith in sharing my faith in the God of his forefathers.