I had a dream last night. Well, more like a nightmare, really.
I was at my mother's funeral.
I don't remember many of the details. All I really remember was that The Vespers had flown here in the middle of a tour to be with me, and I was sobbing as they group-hugged me. The one line I remember saying was "I didn't share the Gospel with her. Why didn't I share the Gospel with her?!"
That cry was pretty much echoing in my head when I woke up...and for most of the day.
I know that I can't make my mother become a Christian, just like all of the well-meaning people in my life couldn't have made me a Christian when I was in the depths of my depression if their lives depended on it. But when she leaves this earth, if she does so without coming to know Jesus, I don't want the reason for that to be because I didn't talk to her about how beautifully my life has changed. I want everyone I love to experience the life change that comes with giving your life to Christ, but probably more her than anyone else. I guess I feel like after all the hell she's been through, she deserves this. No, she needs this.
But I've yet to really talk to her about it. Mostly because even the slightest mention of my faith or my baptism or my church or anything of that tends to get some snide remark, and my selfish pride and feelings make me think that it's not worth being verbally beaten down. After a certain amount of mocking and jokes and insults and anger, I just stopped trying. My family, beyond all reason, is the one group of people that I purposely try to hide my faith from. My agnostic and atheist friends respect me enough to respect my choices, and they don't care when I talk about my faith. In fact, most of them were thrilled for me when I told them about God-ordained events like my baptism or finding my church. Those friends know I pray for them. I pray for my family, too...I just don't bother to tell them. Don't I owe that to them to tell them? Shouldn't I want salvation for them more than anyone else?!
I should, but honestly, sometimes it feels like my heart has just given up, like I've just accepted things for the way they are. So I hide my God from them...and then have the nerve to talk about how they have no idea who I really am. I have the audacity to tell my sister she belongs in hell for the torture she puts my family through. I'm pretty sure if you asked any one of them, they wouldn't be able to tell you they could see Christ in me.
I'm totally missing the point.
The point is...I don't want to be standing in front of caskets five, ten, twenty, fifty years from now hating myself for not being bold enough to tell the people that I love most of the God that saved me. I want to be able to say that, at the very least, I tried. I can't just start preaching the Gospel to my atheist grandma on the way to the Commissary tomorrow, but I can start by actively and earnestly praying for open and receptive hearts, so when the time is right, they don't hear me...they hear the Lord instead.
I'm going to start praying like their lives depend on it.
Because they do.