A good friend of mine once told me that even if Jesus wasn’t real, she didn’t care. That she would still live like He was even if He was not. Three years ago, that completely transformed me. A self-made, Middle Eastern hippy who dined with the world’s outcasts- that was my kind of man.
I stopped worrying about what people thought of me for the most part. Friends that had left me because I refused to continue being their doormat or because I had become a Christian. I had always tried to fit in even though I was always “in.” But I longed to be next to the dregs of society so I didn’t have to hear one more self-involved soliloquy or sit through one more day of wondering if this was the last day that they might let me sit at the table.
And that’s why this article struck…
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