Doug Van Pelt

Christmas Eve in a Bar

I remember one Christmas Eve night many years ago when I was in Florida with my family, as I am now. I was either six or eighteen months into my newfound life as a returned prodigal son, who was serious about growing as a disciple and being obedient. I felt the Lord's leading about something, and here's how it played out:

I kept having these thoughts in my head, almost as if random daydream thoughts. Thoughts that wandered from the "reality" around me. It was Christmas Eve and I kept wondering about lonely (and perhaps lost) people that would be spending Christmas Eve in a bar, perhaps drinking away the pain or trying to forget the hurt that maybe being close to family members brought, be it real-time pain or bad memories. Even though I did not hear an audible voice tell me something through the air, I felt like God was talking to me in my thoughts. I should go to a local bar and just be there for someone.

So, close to or after midnight I crept out of my sister's house (where both my parents and I were staying) in the Palm Estates neightborhood and drove through a couple neighborhoods before I hit the small downtown artery of the city of Niceville (yep, that's really its name) and drove up to one of the many Cash's bars that were located around the Fort Walton Beach area. I felt kind of scandalous at the time, because most Christians I knew didn't spend much time around or in bars -- and probably less so on Christmas Eve.

As I walked in, I did not know what to expect. It's not like the Lord told me, "And when you see so & so, tell them this," but I did have a sense that my steps were ordered and that I'd see some evidence of this. I was a little bit nervous, because I wasn't sure how this would turn out, how I'd talk to a stranger, or what people might think. Some people get offended when spiritual things or "religion" is brought up in conversation.

I can't remember what I told the bartender when he offered me a drink as I sat up to the bar. It was probably a "No thanks." I might have said something unusual, like, "I'm just here for the conversation." I looked over to my right and was amazed to see this guy named Bobby, whom I had worked with on a construction crew a couple summers before. He was a real pleasant guy who always had a laugh and was quick to light up a joint when taking a break (which only happened once or twice during that summer's project on a large custom home we were building). While illegal drugs (and legal ones, like alcohol) are considered bad and have negative connotations to be sure, one thing I can say about that culture that I used to be a part of, is that people bond over that kind of shared experience (superficial or not). So, besides the fact that Bobby and I worked together (he was like the foreman's assistant, so he was superior to me on the job), we also shared a couple party moments.

I didn't immediately assume that Bobby was my "divine appointment," as I scanned the room for others to talk to as well, but it wasn't long before I felt like he was "the reason" for me being there that night. I was relieved that I wouldn't have to strike up a conversation with a stranger, but it was also awkward to bring up Jesus with someone I knew. It's always interesting to run into someone who knew me in my "BC Days" (as some put it), and see their reaction to the news that I'm a Christian now. I most often referred to myself like this, "I'm a Jesus freak now." I'd say this as a way of almost self-depricating my status, in a way that would identify with what might be the lowest measurement on someone's social scale. I guess I could have embarrassed myself and taken on the label, "fundamentalist Christian," but there was also a fun connotation to being thought of as a "freak," since I had come from the "freak" and "drug" culture so closely associated to the free-living hippie movement. For me it was also a way of letting someone know that I was serious about this Christianity thing. It wasn't just a "phase" I was going through, but a true allegiance to a person named Jesus.

Anyway, we talked about spiritual things. We caught with each other. I asked about Dennis, who was the foreman on that project and had gone through a painful separation or divorce. Bobby had a wife and a kid, I believe. I shared from my heart that I felt led by God to be here this night and that he was talking to me by some sort of divine appointment and that I believed God wanted me just to tell him that Jesus loved him. He told me he appreciated me for saying that, and it didn't feel like just a way of saying "Thank you" just to get a person to shut up, but it sounded sincere. We talked some more and I left at 1 or 2 in the morning.

I haven't talked to him since that meeting and I don't know where he's at, but I trust that this short encounter was significant for one reason or another. He might've really needed to hear that Jesus loved him and that someone cared. I probably benefitted by one more time obeying the voice in my head and learning to hear the voice of God, so to speak. I didn't lead Bobby in the sinner's prayer or even ask him if he wanted to accept Jesus, but simply came and did what I felt I was being instructed to do. While it was kind of strange, weird, and a little out of the comfort zone that staying asleep in my bed provided, I'm glad I did it.

I hope that I can still stay sensitive to hurting people. Often times there are easy ways to find someone hurting. Looking for that lone spot in a park or on a beach or bus station, stepping into a bar on a traditional family holiday, or sometimes even in the back row of a church. I hope that I don't get so consumed with myself that I miss out on real human interaction.

Merry Christmas!

Posted by Doug Van Pelt at December 24, 2005 09:06 AM