On the road to Damascus

This weekend marks twenty years since my baptism as a follower of Christ, and if I look back even further to 1984, thirty years since that rain-soaked December night when I stepped forward to acknowledge my need for Him. If there's one thing I learned from these three decades, it's that years do not make a man wise. A cynical friend once quipped, after we had attended one too many talks at a pretentious conference, "So the speaker has twenty years of experience? Maybe twenty times of the same one-year experience." My friend could well have been talking about me, a person still very much lost after thirty years of following Jesus.

Perhaps the expression 'kicking against the pricks' is apt here. It seems such a difficult thing relying on Christ, and not my own understanding, especially when nothing has happened over the past eight months after leaving a cushy job, all the while resisting the Lord's attempt at steering this stubborn ox. Where am I going, following Jesus? If His yoke is easy and His burden light, surely then I am a long way off from following Him, and learning from Him.

Still blind and clueless on the road to Damascus.