As we talked, the conversation was reflective and insightful. We were learning from yesterday. We were preparing for whatever tomorrow would bring. In the moment at hand, anything was possible. Our conversation came to a natural conclusion with a phrase that still lingers.
“If you knew this then, why didn’t you tell me?”
I remember making an excuse. Even as my words faded into silence, I knew I was rationalizing my actions. I could have done something. I remembered considering the idea. For reasons I still cannot recall, I choose not to act. I know interventions are not easy, but that was not my reasons. Even though I had first had evidence that they can bring lasting benefits, I consciously decided that I would take the step.
Interventions have occurred at the oddest times; when it makes sense and even when it appears it does not. When it was time, something, someone intervened. In this context, Paul describes a pivotal one in his life. “One day on my way to Damascus, armed as always with papers from the high priests authorizing my action, right in the middle of the day a blaze of light, light outshining the sun, poured out of the sky on me and my companions.” (Acts 26.12)
My excuses then do not hold up under scrutiny of what it could have meant.
The reality that someone may not listen should not excuse one from a call to action.
A belief that your action will not be acted on does not mean that one should not do what you believe is best for the other.
Not acting because of your doubt robes others of hope.
Interventions are not to be acted on lightly. They presume a level of trust. They require two kinds of willingness. First, the one intervening must be willing to take the risk in acting. Second, the one who life has been interrupted must be willing to do something different with the opportunity.
On occasion, I have lost the window. Recently I took the step. I witnessed the birth of hope.
