It was my parents’ and their king-sized bed was pushed
against the wall with the window just as it had been in the days of my youth. I remembered my favorite sheets and the amber color of the blinds. Though there was much more I remembered, there was much that was different.
We were no longer in California. Maybe our little house had been transplanted into Columbia. The armed guerillas standing beside me and hovering over my parents made me think of Columbia, but we could have very well been somewhere else.
And I knew we were about to die.
The men held me from my parents as the realization boiled
in my brain. I knew what was about to
unfold, and though the idea of death struck me, it was not what brought
hysteria into my lungs. It would take only seconds to die, and the physical act of death would be over. What instead terrified me was the gnashing of
the teeth that would be welcoming my parents—those that I loved the most—into
eternity. Into their eternity.
“Say you accept Christ!” I began screaming. “Believe it, Daddy! Please believe it! Please believe it! Please believe it!” My cries echoed in my ears. Time that had once seemed unending was
finally collapsing, and with it so too did my composure go.
“Just say it…just say it…just say it. Mom, Mom, Mom, you believe it! Tell me you believe it! Please believe it! Please believe it! Please believe it!” I didn’t think the words before I spoke
them. Desperation captained my failing
words. I prayed that desperation would
capture their attention, somehow capture their hearts before we were taken.
My father’s face crumpled. Oh, to see my father cry—what emotion I had
left erupted. I couldn’t hold him,
couldn’t hug him. There was an eternity
between us that was growing by the moments.
Tears streamed down his face.
It was then I saw the slightest nod. So slight that if I hadn't been looking directly at him at that very moment I would have
missed it. As if it were to say...?
My eyes turned to my mother who had somehow managed to
hold her composure.
The guerillas held me.
And I watched, still, my parents immobile on their bed, holding each
other, helpless and unsure. My
childhood, my love for them flashed so bright I could barely breathe. And as my final appeal hushed in my throat, because I
knew the time had come, my heart broke as my mother shook her head against my
pleas.
As the rifle was raised, I met her eyes for the last
time. The skies went black and there was
no earth below me and pain surrounded me, knowing that I would never see her
again.
—Below transcribed from April 7, 2013, sermon: Take 5, Bryan Loritts,
Fellowship Memphis
“God has ordained that His primary mechanism for people
hearing about the Gospel is you. It’s
me. The Bible does not just say live the
Gospel, it says open up your mouth, Bryan, and proclaim it.”
“People are drowning, drowning in their own
sins. I've got the Gospel. The Good News. Hmm, I know I should probably throw this out,
but that's gonna be awkward. So they're
drowning, and I'm worried about awkward.
Dying in their sins, and I'm worried about what they're going to think
about me...this is the struggle. …I want
the Spirit of God to ignite a fire to throw out life preservers…[so that in relationships]
you have the assurance of saying, ‘Hey, I gave them the goods…I loved on them
enough to throw them a life preserver.
They may have rejected…but when I stand in the presence of God, understanding
that He planted me in this community and in His sovereignty surrounded me with
these neighbors, I can say, God, I was faithful.
To not just live the gospel but to speak it.’”
How, then, can they
call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one
of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to
them? And how can anyone preach unless they are sent? (Romans 10:14-15)
