He was bundled up. All I could see were his eyes when he looked at me. It had to have been about 10 degrees outside. He was filling up with gas when I pulled into the gas station and stepped around the pump to ask my question. He didn't want any of it.
"You'd be wasting you time," he said, turning away from me to twist his gas cap onto his car. I asked him why. "I'm just not into it," he said as he kept moving, now reaching for his car door. "I don't want any of that stuff. You'll have to go find someone else."
"I'll pray for you anyway," I said, wanting him to know that I really would, and knowing that might provoke him. "You can do whatever you want," he said. Then he shut his door. A moment later, we were driving away in opposite directions. I did pray for him, that God would wake him up.
Strangely, I had a real peace in my heart through this whole episode. Not even much adrenaline. It didn't feel to me to be overly dramatic, just sad.
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