The man who taught me, but never said a word to me

What an interesting monument to those who died here. Click, click goes the shutter to capture it's grandeur. "For God so loved the world that he gave his Only Begotten Son!" came the cry from somewhere in the distance.

"Thank you for quoting a little John 3:16 for us today sir," I heard myself mumble as my shutter continued to click away. You see, my morning/day hadn't started off very well and I wasn't in the most revelatory mood. Click, click... I was actually fighting to find the Spirit and keep it with me so I could enjoy something about my Sabbath day. But my cynicism and orneriness had closed the doors to all possibilities.

Then I turned around and started to walk toward the sanctuary that was The Alamo. Hundreds of people walking back and forth, reading placards, and taking photos. The day was overcast and temperate. There was a nice breeze blowing that made for a great day to be outside in Texas. Then I saw him.

The man whose cries I had earlier scoffed at. He stood erect on a sewer cover dressed simply in khakis and a plaid shirt and sleeves rolled up. His Bible was clenched in his worn hands as he quoted scripture after scripture. His silver hair and face gave him the mark of life experience, and his face shone with the love of Christ.

I stopped and stared at him as I contemplated what he was doing. Just that week I had taught seminary students about Paul, and I challenged them to be fearless about the gospel and to be missionaries. That day, I saw Paul. A man who was not ashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ; a man who knew the scriptures; a man who loved God and his son Jesus Christ.

While walking toward The Alamo, I realized all he was doing was quoting scripture after scripture. There was a power I felt in his words. But I never stopped to talk to him. We walked across the street and started reading another placard, but I suddenly found myself starting at this man again.

This time I watched as he stepped from his place to a wall where he sat and carefully placed his Bible in a bag. He sat for a few moments and in that time I almost got the courage to walk over and talk to him. But I just stood there. He gently stood and proceeded to walk down the street. Again, I longed to chase after him and talk to him. But again, I just stood there. No one gave him a second glance as he walked and gradually blended in with the throngs of people and quietly disappeared.

I will never know what I could have learned from this man, or what I could have shared with him. My hard heart became chains of hell (Alma 12). Someday I will meet this man again and I will have to answer for my selfishness.

This gentleman understood the cry of Alma and so many others before him: God loved us so he sent His Son; And God so loved the world that he restored the gospel of Jesus Christ. Someday I hope to become a more perfected missionary and cry with Paul, "For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ!"