Marked for Christ

We followed a truck to church on Sunday. Well, we weren’t intentionally following him. After he cut someone off in front of us, then veered into our lane, my husband slowed down to see what he would do next. Ex-cop that he is — I always have to hear about bad drivers. People who are “sauced,” or just need to be pulled over.

The giant red Dodge with a “Real Men Love Jesus” sticker was all over the road: crossing the white line, driving erratically. After we got off the freeway he sped away while we joked that he must be late for church. Sure enough, he pulled into our church parking lot.

I’m not pointing my finger like it sounds: we purposefully do not have a Jesus fish on our car. Not because I don’t want to declare Christ, but because my husband thinks I am a horrible driver.

A girlfriend the other day told me that she started to jaywalk but caught herself because she was in a work uniform. When that thought became conscious deliberation — she felt God press on her heart, “You are always marked for me.”

A big giant Jesus fish right on my forehead. Ahh, marked for Christ. I am so happy.

Unfortunately, the second I am late for church — someone will be watching.

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