Fisher of Men (ii) | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Fisher of Men (ii) | Previous Challenge Entry
By Samuel Johnson
02/07/07
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I hung the sign on my door window as I left the small shop and stepped out into the morning sunlight reflecting from the sidewalk. If anybody happened to stop by they would know that I had gone fishing for awhile and would return later. I had already changed the message on my voicemail and I had my cell-phone with me. Running through the mental list of things that I had to accomplish today a thought jumped in and said, “B-u-s-y” meaning “Burdened Under Satan’s Yoke”.

Pressing the thoughts from my mind as I rounded the corner leading into the alley where I had parked my motorcycle that morning I switched them to praising God for all of the wonderful things that He had done in my life over the past few years since my salvation. The motorcycle was a beautiful 1990 Suzuki Intruder that had been customized to look and sound more like a Harley. The paint job on it was a $400.00 a pint “flip-flop” paint that changed color when viewed from different directions. As I walked toward it, removing the keys from my pocket it shined a deep purple with red around the edges and black in the shadows of the bottom.

I prayed silently for safety and guidance as I threw my leg over the seat and sat down. I continued talking to God as I put the key in the ignition switch and cranked it up. I twisted the throttle a couple of times lightly as I adjusted the choke control on it to the RPM that would help it warm up slightly while I got my helmet and sunglasses on. The noise from the tailpipes reverberated loudly through the narrow alley as I eased the clutch out and rode towards the street, no traffic coming so I hit the throttle as I turned left and shifted into second gear.

“God I don’t know where you want me to go, so you’re going to have to guide me this morning, I turn it all over to you,” I said aloud into the wind as I hit fourth gear heading for the highway.

My small shop was more of a front for my ministry than it was a store. Two years ago God had convinced me that I was supposed to spread the good news of Jesus Christ in a small neighborhood in Bibb City. The neighborhood was drug-infested with prostitutes and gang-members. It had originally been a development for workers at the cotton mills that had surrounded it, but when the mills closed and no jobs could be found, it stumbled down the dark path to poverty.

With my past, it was definitely my kind of hood and I enjoyed my labor for Christ. I didn’t get many paying customers in my store since their was few people there that wanted to hear or read about Jesus, but I had made a lot of friends with the street people that are always looking for a free bowl of soup and coffee. I helped those that I could and through example, had managed to lead a couple of them to their salvation, thanks to God and the Holy Spirit.

My thoughts had been wandering on their own as I rode along in the wind and now I realized that I had ridden out to the backwaters of the lake. I hadn’t been here for years. It had been a place where we had come as teenagers to party on the weekends and judgeing from the beer cans and overflowing trashcans appeared to be the same.

“Okay God, you brought me here, now show me why,” I said aloud as I reached down to the side and shut the ignition off. No one was here and I didn’t know why God would send me here to spread His gospel, but He had definitely told me to go fishing this morning during my meditation. I was a fisherman of men, not fish. I pulled my Bible out of the saddle-bag, opened it to Acts 8:32 and began reading.

I looked up and waved at the man walking in my direction. I hadn’t noticed him at first, but here he was, the one that God had sent me too. He carried an unlit cigarette in his hand as he approached and I could discern from his appearance that he was in need of more than a light for his cigarette.

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