The cure for what ails you

All along this journey we meet people. People of all shapes, sizes, colors, nationalities, backgrounds, beliefs... you get the picture. Everyone we meet is different and no conversation is ever the same. Except what we expect to get out of that conversation.
Every conversation we hope to, in some way, share Him. Share His love. Share His truth.
Some conversations naturally transition. Others we have to work hard to do that.
Likewise, some conversations end with positive responses and we rejoice and follow up.
Others end without any sign of understanding or desire to go deeper. We deal with that and lift them up to Dad for His intervention.
Tonight we were having dinner with a bunch of colleagues - all of whom share the same convictions, calling and training. We had concluded a small work project and decided to patronize a local restaurant.
It was a delightful dinner even with a table of 13 including kids. Our waiter was great. He served our table with ease despite the many calls for refills and split checks and the like.
When I told him he was doing a great job he replied with a smile, "This is not my first rodeo."
At the end of the night, it was our waiter who initiated the conversation.
Maybe he was hoping for a bigger tip. Maybe he was just interested in who we were (we're all obviously not from Canada.) Whatever the reason, he started it.
As he spoke of his life, my heart just broke for him.
No. He didn't have any sad story. He was just lost. Completely lost.
I think all of us at that table tried in someway to turn that conversation.
We tried to get him to realize his "lostness" hoping that we could point to the right direction.
CJ even tried to simply tell him that we'd talk to Father for him if that was ok.
But he didn't want it. He was completely closed to the concept.
And that's ok. Except, it just wasn't ok.
I honestly wanted to cry. And that doesn't happen to me often.
We've experienced multitudes of this kind of closed response throughout our time in Vancouver, so I'm not sure why this particular conversation hit me so hard.
Even our trainer who is in town from Southeast Asia and having dinner with us shrugged his shoulders and said, "It's in His hands." And he is right.
I sat there as everyone else at our table got up and started putting on coats and scarves, preparing to leave. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.
This very nice waiter who seems to know how to do everything right is dying. You know what I mean, right?
He's dying, lost.

Let me ask you a question. If you knew someone was dying of a disease, but you had the perfect cure that would save their life, wouldn't you give it to them?
The more and more time we spend in this city, the more my heart breaks for those who are dying. And even though we hold out to them in our hands the cure to save their life, they reject it.
"No thanks" they say.
I wonder how He must feel when they reject Him.

So we put on our happy faces and walk on. All the while we're lifting the lost up to Dad for His intervention.
I would have a page full of names if I listed every person in Vancouver who has said "no thanks" to the cure we offer them, but for some reason tonight, I feel convicted to share his name - the waiter who is lost.
His name is Shane.
Would you please talk to Dad on Shane's behalf? Ask that Shane would continue to be offered the cure for lostness and that when it's His will, Shane would accept.

It is my hope that you, also, will share the cure your carry in your heart with those who need it.

"He is not slow about His promise, as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance." The ninth verse of the third chapter of the second book of Peter.