“Hey, Brandon,” she said, bouncing up to the counter – not a coworker, but the girlfriend of one, whom I didn’t know from Adam – and said, “Do you know the difference between a cheeseburger and a [sexual reference]?”
I groaned.
No. I do not know the difference between those two things, and I’ve as much desire to find out as to go dumpster-diving in full view of Main Street on rush hour. Which I suppose is not altogether unrelated.
I looked at them with what I hoped was my (increasingly common) world-weary half-grin.
“C’mon. Enough for one night,” I said.
They relented good-naturedly.
I’m trying to be gracious here. I don’t want to be THAT Christian, the one who gets all stunned and debilitated because unbelievers are acting like unbelievers. You have to let this stuff slide off your backs in environments like my second job.
Plus, I actually enjoy this particular coworker. He’s got a lot of character (other than the one-track mind), we work great together, and I do consider him a friend. Burning bridges over this stuff would not do. Not when I’m called to share Christ with the people in my life.
But this stuff does get tiring. Perhaps you relate.
So much for “her body, her choice”, it seems.
I have a confession to make: there have been times I’ve doubted the Prodigal’s motives when reading this piece.