HALIFAX, Nova Scotia, August 27, 2024 – Every once in a blue moon, I run into people I used to know before I was born-again. Some of these people I *knew biblically* for shorter or longer periods of time; others were just friends. In every case, as soon as they spot me and recognize me and run over to me and we start talking, they immediately start cursing.

I don’t mean they yell at me; I mean they start peppering their conversation with the “f” word. After a few minutes, every second word is “f”.

It happens every time.

It’s a curious phenomenon that I attribute to the demons responding to the Spirit in me. Interestingly, even they (my former lovers and friends) notice that they’re uncharacteristically cursing a blue streak. Some openly wonder at it and apologize, while others appear to try to compensate for it by talking that much faster, which just results in their dropping that many more f-bombs per minute.

I seem to make these people nervous. I don’t try to make them nervous; they just get nervous around me. Better said, I make them incredibly uncomfortable. I look like me (or an older version of what they remember) and my voice sounds like me, but our conversation is always very one-sided because I have absolutely nothing to say to them beyond the usual niceties (“How’ve you been?” “How’re the kids?”). They probably feel hurt by what appears to be my coldness, but I can’t for the life of me think of anything to say beyond platitudes. I look at them, and they’re like strangers to me. I can’t even recall what drew us together in the first place.

I’m also acutely aware that they’re aware that I’m born-again. I know they’re aware and I know how they’re reacting to it because I can see it in their eyes. Some of them I told personally; others heard it from others. But they all know, these people who call to me from across the street. None of them are born-again or even Christians. I would know if they were, the way that John the Baptist in his mother’s womb knew that Jesus was in the vicinity, in Mary’s womb. The Spirit in one reacts to the same Spirit in another, and it’s always a joyful meeting.

These unexpected ambushes by past lovers and friends are anything but joyful. How can they be? I’m not who I was, and I thank God for that. I never want to revisit or reclaim who I was. Demon-ridden Charlotte is not a happy memory for me. I was glad to leave it all behind when I was reborn. I know that many people still see me as I once was and expect me to be an older version of that same person, so they’re confused when they encounter born-again Charlotte instead. I see them trying to dig for the old me, but she’s long gone. I can’t share their opinions anymore, or their values, or their hopes and dreams, any more than I can share their bed. I’m not the same person they knew, and they soon find that out after a few minutes of awkward, halting, f-bomb-laden conversation.

Jesus taught us not to retreat from the world but to hold it at arm’s length. We’re not to get involved in the “cares of the world” because those cares can quickly turn into snares that trap us. As born-again believers, we can’t befriend or share confidences with those who aren’t born-again, as I wrote in an earlier article. We can socialize with unbelievers, like Jesus did with the scribes and Pharisees and publicans, but that kind of socializing is difficult with unbelievers who knew us personally before we were reborn. There are simply too many mixed messages and unrealistic expectations. Too many snares.

I don’t dislike the people I used to know intimately; I just can’t be for them what I once was. I am a stranger to them now, and a born-again one at that, and we have nothing in common except a past that I’ve firmly shut the door on. This doesn’t make for much of a friendship foundation.

But I’ll still wave to them across the street. If they see me and wave, I’ll always wave back. If they choose not to wave, I won’t hold it against them.

And if they ever sincerely want to know about God and Jesus, I’m here for them.