VIGILENT TOO LATE

This past week I enjoyed lunch at one of the restaurants I frequent most. As I was preparing to finish, one of my friends on the wait staff approached me and we began conversing. Soon, niceties turned into more substantive matters; Cindy asked me if I had heard about the high school student who had been assaulted by several fellow students. Unfortunately, I had: five other teens had doused him with alcohol and lit him on fire! (He had miraculously survived in spite of severe burns covering two-thirds of his body.)

But that which was to follow I was to be completely unprepared for.

Continuing our conversation, Cindy queried, “Do you remember Jean? He used to work here but moved to another location north of here. He had the nicest smile.”

Wondering why Cindy was making the connection between the teenager and this other worker (whom I thought I knew) caused my mind to race to consider other “Jeans” who may have worked at the restaurant but not the one I was sure Cindy was describing. No other Jean came to mind.

“Cindy, I think I know him. Isn’t he the really nice Haitian guy? He’s now up at the restaurant in Boca Raton, right?”

“Yes, exactly,” Cindy immediately responded.

“Sure, I know Jean” I responded positively, but a bit tentatively still wondering inside why our conversation had transitioned as it had to him. Indeed, Jean was one of the first members of the wait staff I had met. But it had been quite some time. My last point of contact a couple of months earlier had been brief. Surely, I thought, I would see him again!

It still, however, remained unclear as to why Cindy was making the connection between the teenager and Jean? I had to know, so I pressed: “What about Jean, Cindy?”

“About a month ago someone dumped him off at Broward Community Hospital. He had been severely burned; so much so they could not even place a breathing tube in his mouth. Friends said his burns were caused from him working on a radiator. But police say the burns were too severe and covered too large a part of his body for that to be the case. He died three weeks later.” Cindy momentarily paused before continuing. “He was only 32; he left behind a wife and two, young children. I still can’t believe he's dead.”

I sat momentarily stunned. Cindy and I only exchanged a few additional words before ending our conversation that day. But I couldn’t ignore the questions in my mind that persisted:

“Had I neglected to share Christ with Jean?” (Upon further consideration, I remembered I had)

“Why had I not followed through more conscientiously in ‘continuing the conversation’?” (Sure, I hadn’t seen Jean as often, but what about that last time?)

“Am I becoming too content with just having a ‘good conversation’ assuming that there will always be another opportunity?” (I am praying for greater vigilance and diligence.)

As I write, I am thinking of Cindy. Religious background? Yes. Does she really know Jesus as her Savior? I do not know. And what about my other friends at the other places I frequent? Where am I in my conversations with them? More importantly, am I remembering to pray for them and taking advantage of every opportunity to take ‘the next step’—whatever that may mean?

I will never forget Jean’s smile and his graciousness. My prayer is that Jean did come to know Christ…that someone else in his world had communicated—more consistently than I—the life-changing message presented by Jesus of Nazareth. And I pray that my “next time” with another—and the conversation I have—will be tempered by the reality that that conversation may, indeed, be my—or their—last one.