My first real attempt at telling a stranger about Jesus Christ was terrifying. It was the first week of my freshman year of college. Newly arrived from my rural home in Western Colorado, I was still getting a feel for the big city and a big campus.
The day I arrived in Denver, I called my mom from a phone booth near my dorm to tell her I got in safely. As I hung up, I noticed a small poster taped in the booth. Underneath a profile sketch of Christ were the words, “Wanted: Jesus Christ,” and a phone number. I called the number, found out there was an active Christian fellowship at the University of Denver, and said I was interested.
Within a couple days the campus minister, a tall man in his 30's, met me in the lounge of my dorm. After very little chit-chat, just enough to ascertain that I was a new Christian, he suddenly stood up, motioned me to follow, and said, “Hey, come over here and share your testimony with the Jehovah Witness janitor I just met!”
I don’t know remember what incoherency tumbled out of my mouth, but I’d hate to think the poor janitor’s eternal destiny depended on it.