Christa

You have to love the heart of Bill; he's got the heart of Jesus. The first time that you meet him, you're instantly drawn to him for some strange reason.

When my wife and I started attending our church, I distinctly remember our conversation when one of us said, "You see that guy up on stage, playing the acoustic guitar, with a really strong 5 o'clock shadow? We need to get to know him."

I repeated those words back to him one day in Pastor Richard's office and our friendship blossomed from there. I can't tell you how much we have in common; the list would go on indefinitely.

So when Bill writes you and says, "You've got to meet this marvelous woman I met at IHOP! I've invited her to come speak at our house next Tuesday night." You go.

When I met Christa Damm, I was taken back at her quiet, beautiful spirit. You could easily tell that this was a woman who wanted nothing more than to chase after the heart of God. As I sat next to her at the dining room table, I sensed this peace I hadn't felt for a long time. Her mere presence reminded me of my late grandmother who was a Jesus lover too, and it warmed my heart to make the comparison.

She tore into stories about her life, growing up in Germany during the war and scavenging for food for the family of ten. She spoke of God's great divine intervention in her life, His protection over her and her family. And before long, she was talking about the lost and forgotten generation of Indian children who are at the bottom of the caste system with no relief in sight. She passed around images of children, images that would rip your heart out and tear to the bone. These children were gypsies and moslems and lived in a part of India where less than 1% knew Jesus. That's where Christa is being called, is being pulled, to make an impact in the Kingdom of Christ.

I hung onto every word. It was naturally affirmation that this is what I am being drawn into. But God was speaking to me that night. "It's not about you, Erik. It's about Me. Let this be a time about Me and not about what I have in store for you." Those were words that I hadn't heard much before, probably because I've always been too busy asking God to speak to me with my hands clasped over my ears and my eyes shut tight. But tonight it was as clear as day.

I was devouring some chips and salsa the Butlers had provided, which served more or less as my dinner that night. Suddenly out of no where, Christa grabbed my arm and said, "Take your time, my dear." But those words shoke me more than the tangible thought of slowing down eating some chips.

God wants me to slow down and listen to Him. Afterall, it's not about me. It's about God.