The man I mentioned yesterday could not believe his ears, had this strumpet mentioned getting right with God? The nerve, to talk about such a thing in place like this, I know God will restore me, but how can He care for someone like her? At that point in his thought process he heard the door slam and she was gone.
As he thought on her words and actions, he delved into his own thoughts a little deeper and began to realize that the shame and guilt he was experiencing was more than just the Christmas blues, but was something much deeper, something profound, could it be what he used to know as the conviction of the spirit? He mumbled to himself, "Hey, I walked away from that stuff years ago. Why am I bothered with it now, and on Christmas?"
With a strangeness of the ilk of a Ghost of Christmas past, the reality of his life and current situation began its march in his fuzzy, almost numb mind, he thought; "Here I am condemning this girl who was here only because I paid her, and actually thinking she is beyond hope, when I am worse than she for I surely know better. She cried for God's help and I have the answers she needs, but what an empty witness I would be, here, naked, in a hotel room with a strange, paid girl. I hope she finds someone else to help her. Of God, if you are still there, please help me."
With that he passed off into a fitful sleep for the rest of Christmas day. He would spend several more Christmas days in about the same fix, but always with the nagging pain of shame and guilt.
When his marriage was finally just past the breaking point, his wife in a last ditch effort forced him to attend a mid week service to hear a missionary. You know the missionary was the girl who had been with him in the hotel. He recognized her immediately and thought "I bet this crowd would die if I stood up and told on her." His smugness was soon turned to a flabbergasted frustration as the now wholesomely beautiful young woman told of her former life and how Christ had spoke to her that Christmas morning in the hotel while she entertained a paying customer. She wept as she told of the woman who had explained the mercy, grace and love of Christ to her, and how Christ had put it on her heart to help the poor, battered, raped and diseased women and children of war torn Africa.
The saints at the 'in' church were a little taken aback to have such a real sinner in their midst. They were floored when our man stood and said, "I know her story is true because I was the man with her on the morning of which she speaks. I can tell you that I want what she found that day. Please pray for me."
I have covered the gist of this true story of how Christ can and does work in shattered lives. That is what Christmas is all about. Isn't it?