The Non-Salesman

This post is rated R for real-life benign profanity and for subject matter that could possibly trip you up and/or wreck your life. After reading this disclaimer, if you choose to not read any further than this paragraph, I'll understand.

Several years ago, I was minding my own business at the mall, possibly doing some early Christmas shopping, when I was accosted by a very cute, scruffy guy with a bandana in his hair and a foreign accent. I really don't have a "type" anymore, but if I still did, oh heck yes, he would be it. He led me to his kiosk where he gently held my left hand and buffed my thumbnail. He was so careful with it, he made eye contact, and he smiled, too. I think I'm getting flushed just thinking about it again. Um... Tirzah, maybe you should get ahold of yourself before proceeding.

Deep breaths. Better? Good. OK, so back to the hot Israeli salesman at the mall kiosk. The guy cheerfully, gorgeously explained that the product he was using to buff my thumbnail was made from all-natural minerals from the Dead Sea. And I think he asked if I was married... right before he poured Dead Sea oil over my thumbnail. Oh my gosh, I'm going to swoon.

Focus, Tirzah! Ahem. So, after he finished buffing my thumbnail, I noticed that it was considerably shinier than the rest of my fingernails. Wow! Then the hot, scruffy salesguy said I could purchase an entire nail-care kit for only $40. At the time, I didn't have any credit cards, and I certainly didn't have 40 extra dollars, so I politely declined. Then as suddenly as he came into my life... the hot Israeli salesman turned away and tried to hide his dejection by busying himself at his cash register. I tried to assuage the rejection by saying something like, "I'll enjoy my nice, shiny thumb," but I think he completely ignored me and I awkwardly walked away. Fine, just use me and my thumbnail.

A short time later, a woman who used to be in my life informed me that I can buy regular nail-buffing crème at a beauty supply store for $5 or $6. She was right, and I shared a picture of such a container at the beginning of this post. This nail-buffing crème isn't made with all-natural minerals from the Dead Sea, and it doesn't come with a hot, scruffy Israeli salesguy, but it works pretty well, and it leaves my nails pretty darn shiny.

Sigh. Did you really only want me for my $40? Focus, Tirzah! And maybe sign up for some more Freedom ministry or something.

Except for my tiny little eBay listings, I'm really not a salesperson at all. That isn't how God gifted me or designed me. I'm not saying that salespeople are evil. I'm just saying that they're designed a certain way, because they have an important job to do: make money. Their job often involves flattering their clients, sometimes manipulating their clients' wills, and beating their competitors' prices, all at lightning speed. Salespeople are very competitive, they loathe rejection even though they know it's an occupational hazard, and it's actually refreshing when they can actually take "no" for an answer. (I'm not a competitive person at all. Oh, yay! You beat me at Monopoly! Would you like to kick my board-game-loser butt again? Here, take all my money and please keep hanging out with me.)

I was reminded of this today when I was minding my own business at Best Buy. I was looking at the blank CDs. Suddenly, a woman accosted me, introduced herself, and complimented me on my hair. Yes, it's naturally curly, and yes, I know you're trying to sell me something. She asked me if I had cable. I think I said, "No, I'm not interested" as politely and as firmly as I could, with a smile. We ended the conversation very quickly, and I grabbed my blank CDs and got the heck out of there as quickly as I could.

All I wanted were some blank CDs, the CD-RW kind that you can erase and burn again, so that I can recycle and save some money in the long run. I didn't realize I was anywhere near a DirecTV kiosk. I wonder if the smiling woman would have accosted me if she had known I were unemployed. Hmm. Maybe I should get a temporary tattoo for my forehead or something.

Also today, I was finding some really cheap deals on CDs at Movie Trading Company. The guy at the checkout counter invited me to check out his rock show tomorrow night. Um, all I wanted were some really cheap Michael W. Smith CDs to replace what I have on audiotape. Please, I beg you, stop trying to sell me stuff I don't want!

I think I mentioned this in a blog post sometime last year: that sometimes evangelists are called "salesmen for the gospel" or something like that. Good heavens, no, that's definitely not what the process is supposed to be at all. At least, I don't think it is. Salesmen manipulate, flatter, sometimes coerce, sometimes lie, sometimes harass, sometimes guilt-trip, and often rush the sale of something that they themselves did not manufacture, test, or even own themselves. After the sales, they may never see their clients ever again and possibly couldn't care less whether they live or die.

This is part of the reason why the other day, when I saw Mormon missionaries exit a loaded car in the parking lot of my beautiful coin laundromat, I couldn't accelerate onto the adjacent highway fast enough. No, I'm not interested!

" 'I will make mention of Rahab and Babylon to those who know Me; behold, O Philistia and Tyre, with Ethiopia: "This one was born there." ' And of Zion it will be said, 'This one and that one were born in her; and the Most High Himself shall establish her.' The Lord will record, when He registers the peoples: 'This one was born there.' Selah." (Psalm 87:4-6)

I don't know much about Psalm 87, but I think maybe it's God's very aesthetic way of saying, "Hey, have you seen this one and that one? They were born in My city. They're all different, they're all unique, but they're all Mine."

Yes, Father God bought me with Jesus, so He owns me. And yes, it's part of the Family business to spread the gospel and tell as many people as possible about Jesus. But God doesn't want me to be a repulsive little salesperson.

I also don't think God is a Salesman, either. I think maybe sometimes we think He is, or at least we treat Him like one. Oh my gosh, here comes God. He's going to try to convince me to give up something I don't want to give up. He's going to force me to pay for something I don't want to pay for. He's going to push me into something I'm not ready for. Hurry! Go lock the front door, close the blinds, turn the lights off, and pretend we're not home! Uh-oh, He rang the doorbell. Shh. If we're quiet, He'll eventually go away.

So, if you've been keeping up with my blog lately, you know that I've been having a very rough few days. Yesterday, if I can remember the conversation correctly, I was telling God, "I feel like shit. But I think the shit is getting easier." He reminded me of constipation. "Yeah, at least it's not constipation shit," I observed. "What about diarrhea shit?" I asked almost shockingly. He reminded me of a high-fiber diet. "Yeah, I guess regular shit is the best kind," I observed with a laugh, and we both enjoyed a very nice spontaneous conversation. He was showing me that my times in the pit are getting shorter, and He's helping me out of them faster.

Does that sound like a Salesman to you? Heck no. That sounds like a good Father who enjoys His daughter's company, even when she feels like shit.

I repeat: God is not a Salesman. He isn't trying to push something on you that you don't want or need. He isn't using you so that He can earn a commission. He won't forget about you after you offer Him everything you own and give up your very life to Him.

I repeat: Evangelists shouldn't be salespeople, either. Actually, I think they're really more like estate lawyers. Please imagine the following scenario with me.

[knock on door; door opens]

LAWYER: Good afternoon. Is this Tirzah's house?

TIRZAH: Who wants to know?

LAWYER: My name is Fisher Ofmen. I'm looking for Tir-zah.

TIRZAH: That's "TEER-zuh." That's me.

LAWYER [smiling]: Ah. You're exactly like He described you.

TIRZAH: Who?

LAWYER: Your Brother.

TIRZAH: I don't have a brother.

LAWYER: Well, not yet. You see, He died. And He left you a rather substantial inheritance. But you haven't claimed it yet. I've been looking all over for you. May I come in?

TIRZAH [steps aside and motions the lawyer inside]: Keep talking. I'm listening.

LAWYER: This Brother also happens to be the King of the Universe.

TIRZAH [gasps; shuts the front door]: I'm royalty?!

LAWYER: No, not yet. You haven't claimed your inheritance yet.

TIRZAH: But I thought you said I had a brother.

LAWYER: He isn't your Brother until you've accepted Him as your Brother.

TIRZAH: Would He be my Big Brother?

LAWYER: The Biggest Brother who ever lived, or who will ever live.

TIRZAH: If I haven't accepted Him yet, how can He be my Brother?

LAWYER: He's already chosen you. All you have to do is accept the conditions of this agreement.

TIRZAH [quickly reads through paperwork]: Wait. I have to give up EVERYTHING???

LAWYER: Everything. And it's worth it. I actually claimed my own inheritance rather recently.

TIRZAH: OK, so He's rich. Is He at least nice?

LAWYER: He is the nicest, infinity.

TIRZAH: And He wants to be in control of everything in my life?

LAWYER: Everything.

TIRZAH: Why did He choose me?

LAWYER: He just did.

TIRZAH: OK. Where do I sign?

God isn't some hot, scruffy salesman in a mall kiosk who gets me all excited about buffed nails and then abandons me as soon as I tell Him no. He isn't some commission-driven salesperson at Best Buy who misguidedly noses her way into my day. He isn't some cashier at Movie Trading Company who possibly violates his own company policy by promoting his own rock show. God did more than just His marketing homework. He fashioned my very DNA and waited for me to tell Him yes someday. Yes, He'll take "no" for an answer, because He respects boundaries. But He knows how dangerous it is for me to remain separated from Him for all eternity. And He wants me.

He wants to be able to have spontaneous conversations with me, especially when no one else will give me the time of day. He wants to share His peace with me when my soul is so battle-shredded that nothing else will soothe it. He just wants to be my Father. He just wants to be my Friend. He just wants to be closer than a brother. He just wants to be everything to me. He just wants me to give Him everything, and He knows I can't take any of it with me when I leave this earth, and He just wants to share His eternity with me. He's got work for me to do, yes. He's got rules for me to follow, yes. But He just wants me to be His, and He wants to be mine. And I want to be His, too.

Of course, this deal probably sounds too good to be true. Which might be why you have this hesitant look on your face. Tell you what I'm gonna do. I'll stop typing now and let you think about it. How's that sound?