Writing in my blog for the past month has been like having e-mail that has already been read but has yet to be replied to. It sits in my in-box day after day, and if it were possible, it would collect dust. On the rare occasions that I have actually thought about writing, I have felt that there were other things that I could be doing, and there would be a better time to do it. I can't say that now is the best time for me to write, since my homework is left unfinished and my ongoing to-do list is far from done. Still my heart needs words and meanings to be attached to thoughts and feelings going on inside, and that is what drives me to explain myself:

Tonight a New York police officer spoke at UF for the one year aniversary for 9-11. A presentation of the Gospel was given, and there was no amazing turn out, and it didn't bother me. He spoke truth and most people didn't like what they heard. I've learned that most Christians (me included) are wusses and don't want to tell people that they are wrong, and that they need the Lord. It's true, but nobody wants to hear that.

The girl sitting next to me didn't want to hear it. As we passed notes back and forth written with a two inch yellow-orange pencil on small index cards , I was able to hear what she was thinking. She doesn't like to be told that she's a sinner and that she's wrong. She doesn't see her need for the Lord. She doesn't feel it applies to her. By the end of the talk she was sobbing and on the verge of crying. I don't know why. She is a friend of mine and this is the third time we've talked about the Lord in-depth. My heart breaks for her and maybe God is slowly penetrating her heart. I pray that it is so.

I didn't feel like hanging out afterwards, so I came home.