“Hey, Brandon,” she said, bouncing up to the counter – not a coworker, but the girlfriend of one, whom I didn’t know from Adam – “Do you know the difference between a cheeseburger and a [sexual reference]?”
I groaned.
No. I don’t know the difference between those things, and I’ve as much desire to find out as to go dumpster-diving on Main Street during rush hour.
I looked at them with what I hoped was a world-weary half-grin.
“C’mon. Enough for one night,” I said.
They relented good-naturedly.
I’m trying to be gracious. I don’t want to be THAT Christian, the one who gets all debilitated because unbelievers act like unbelievers. You have to let this stuff slide off your back in environments like this.
Plus, I actually enjoy this particular coworker. He’s got solid character (albeit a one-track mind) and I consider him a friend. Burning bridges over this stuff doesn’t necessarily help when you’re trying to share Christ.
But this stuff does get tiring.
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.