It was about three years ago now. It was my first real witnessing experience. I had been convicted that I needed to witness to someone. Something in me called out a certain person I knew. I asked her what she thought happened when people died.
We had a good conversation, but because we were both rather young, she a year or two younger than me and me being 15, we quickly drifted to a tangent. I unfortunately agree that I did not handle it well, as far as keeping on track, and the conversation went a little off.
We resumed the conversation a week later and it went well until she started getting uncomfortable with seeing her sin and what it demands. Without getting into details, her parents got mad at me and accused me of things that I did not do or say. I was told to “cease” the discussion by my teacher and to never do it again.
I was pretty wounded. It seemed the whole world was against me and that I was just waiting to get crushed by the principal or someone else of authority. My 15-year-old mind was consumed with the “fear of man”.
I’m the first to admit I didn’t witness to her perfectly, but the response I got was certainly not one of “not judging” and “treating everyone equally”. I was blatantly yelled at and threatened for my beliefs and for sharing them . . .