About 2 months ago, Pastor Robak, exiled from Iran, spoke at our Sunday night service. He was placed in solitary confinement for 28 days in his country for standing up for his faith. He left the country for religious freedom, but his brother wasn’t so fortunate—he was killed. Now Pastor Robak rents a T.V. studio
I had worked a 15 hour day on Tuesday and was not able to get out and share my faith. Fortunately, I have a back-up plan for times like these: I go down the street to the Arco station where the taxis line up for business. There were none that night. I had to get
I’m the “Jesus Guy.” That’s what the high-schooler called me when I handed out million dollar bills and Da Vinci dollars while proclaiming the Gospel to the students that congregate after school at the Starbucks across the street from Redondo High. These were her almost exact words: “You’re that Jesus guy aren’t you?” I said
The manager of the hairstyling school called me into her office yesterday and said, “Have a seat,” in a not-too-friendly way. I knew why I was there. Last time I got my haircut I shared my faith with about ten tattooed, studded and pierced, rocker-retro-punk stylists. And boy, did they complain. My friend who is
I spoke to an elderly gentleman who listened intently as I presented the gospel. He didn’t want to make a commitment. I asked how old he was and he said he was 79. I said, “You might have maybe 20 more years at best.” “I think you’re being generous,” he replied. “The bottom line is,