Sunday Meditation 7

I found Jesus — and lost my friends

After becoming a Christian in the summer of 1971, my life changed considerably — some changes deliberate; some not. The most unsettling was seeing my world part like the Red Sea.

If you’ve read my personal testimony (Stealing Psalm 40), you know my conversion was not the result of some noble, intellectual journey into higher consciousness, but rather the gritty byproduct of a “Dear John” letter sent to me in Vietnam — just months before my four-year tour in the Navy ended.

I was devastated.

After going forward during a Sunday evening chapel service in Da Nang, I was provided a little New Testament, a brief counseling session, a short prayer. That was it. Next day, I began sharing what happened: Dear John, Chapel service, going forward, Bible, prayer. It wasn’t much of a testimony, but it was all I had.

That’s when the waters parted — and by “waters,” I mean friends.

My drinking buddies abandoned me. Called me “Holy Joe — a derogatory tag reserved for fanatical types who shared their faith at inappropriate times and in obnoxious ways. I couldn’t grasp what was happening. These were my friends. Why didn’t they understand?

It seemed like for every buddy I lost, God sent a replacement. Among the most helpful were a handful associated with a group called The Navigators — sailors and soldiers who studied the Bible daily, memorized key verses and knew how to share their faith , even in a war zone.

Later that summer, I left Vietnam for the last time, with a stop-over of several weeks in Japan, where my squadron was based. One of my old drinking buddies began asking questions about my conversion, my faith and the Bible — stuff like that. I was encouraged, thinking maybe (in some small way) I was making a difference. Having a positive effect. Shining in a sea of darkness. Like a little lighthouse.

My buddy invited me for lunch. I said “Yes,” thinking we were going to have a deep discussion about life, death and the universe. Important stuff. I was mistaken.

After we arrived at the restaurant, my friend excused himself, saying he’d be back shortly. No problem. I’d just chill. That’s when it happened: An attractive Japanese woman came over to me, speaking broken English. She was friendly and playful. Smiling. Moving ever closer. Getting cozy. Then cozier. Then intimate. Then grabby. Her actions seemed choreographed. Like a honky-tonk ballet. I was embarrassed. Rattled — wanting no part of this flirtatious, public spectacle.

Then I realized what was happening. My buddy had set me up. The lunch was a ruse. The woman was a prostitute. Sent by him. To tempt me. Why? Who knows. Humiliation? Maybe. Big laughs? Possibly. I never did find out.

At some point, my buddy realized the prank had gone sour. He approached the woman, convinced her to leave, then apologized (profusely) to me. I wish I could say I handled the situation well. Can’t say that. Didn’t get mad, though — just hurt. And deeply disappointed.

Why share this story now? Believe it or not, I didn’t want to. I’d started a different one (about Tim Tebow) but felt the Holy Spirit nudging me, gently, to write this instead. When I get to Heaven, I’ll have to ask why . . . unless you already know. If so, tell me. Please.

Sunday Meditation 1: The Prodigal Son

Sunday Meditation 2: Ode to Jim Elliot

Sunday Meditation 3: House of Bread

Sunday Meditation 4: Run, Baby, Run

Sunday Meditation 5: When Jesus Prayed

Sunday Meditation 6: The Hebrew Alphabet

My Testimony: Stealing Psalm 40

Jim Lamb is a retired journalist living in Florida. He’s author of “Orange Socks & Other Colorful Tales,” the story of how he survived Vietnam and kept his sense of humor. He accepted Christ at a Sunday chapel service in Da Nang. For more about Jim, visit www.jslstories.com.