SHAKING THE DUST OFF MY FEET.

Remember when the streets of major North American cities were filled with earnest teens handing out slips of paper to pedestrians? In the sixties and seventies, tract evangelism was a fad that swept through many churches. I was one of those impressionable teens in 1973 who figured that since others in my church were doing it, so should I.

In my How I Was Razed memoir, which I hope to publish this year, I wrote about several incidents of when my zeal for Christ led me to do foolish things. Here is an excerpt of the day when I finally gave up the tract fad.

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Though I had poor results in the past when I handed out tracts to my fellow students, I decided to give them one last chance. Believing that my Holy Spirit directed me to do so, I worked up my courage and headed to the toughest wing of the high school. True to form, those teens tore up and crumpled the tracts. Some boys even tossed them in my face. I persisted a few more times, each with the same results.

"Hey, guys, the tract pusher is back," a boy mocked as I came down the hall between classes one afternoon.

"I don't know why he keeps coming, another laughed.

"Yeah. I suppose he thinks he's doing a good business here," a third teen sneered.

I recalled that somewhere in the Bible, Jesus told the seventy disciples to shake off the dust of any village that refused to hear their preaching. "It's no use handing them out here," I muttered as I headed to class. "Their blood be upon them. I'm tired of wasting my money and time doing this."

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of the way I was mislead by a cult church, how I turned my back on God after I felt he perennially failed to heal my eyes, and how he graciously brought me to my senses.

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