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My first exposure to Christian activism came when I was just three years old. My mother pushed me around in a stroller, while she protested the opening of an adult book store. It was my first time holding onto one of those wooden-handled protest signs. And, although I did not understand what cause we had declared war on, I did understand that my mother loved Jesus. And, that whatever she participated in was a choice to further align herself and her family with the cause of Christ.

My own personal involvement with Christian activism began many years later in first grade. I attended a local public elementary school. And, my teacher had asked us to bring in our favorite book to share with the class. For me, it was no contest. My favorite book was entitled, "I Think About Jesus," (a book I still read to my own son, today.)

However, as you might imagine, when the day came to read my book, my teacher glanced at the title, breathed in deeply and then just gave me a look. I'll never forget that look. It said, "don't you know that it is unacceptable to carry these beliefs with you EVERY where you go. There are just some places that are off-limits to your relationship with Jesus."

Of course, she didn't say that. She only said, "I'm sorry, dear, but we can't read that book in class. Please bring in another book tomorrow." But, I fully understood her meaning. The look had said it all.

And, I suppose, from that day on, I purposed in my heart to combat "that look," because, in the core of my being, I know that, for me, there is no place where my Jesus is not welcome.

I love the scriptures in Luke 12:8 and 9, "Also I say unto you, Whoever shall confess me before men, him shall the Son of man also confess before the Angels of God. But he that denieth me before men shall be denied before the angels of God."

I notice now, working in Children's Ministry, how many of the modern depictions of Jesus show him happy and surrounded by disciples and children, and those in whom he worked miracles. But, when I was little, most of the depictions of Jesus showed him in sacrifice. Whether it was battling through temptation in the wilderness, pouring out his broken heart in the Garden of Gethsimine, or with outstretched arms on Calvary, the images burned on my brain are those of what Jesus was willing to do for me. And so, I suppose, for me, not being activist would be like telling Jesus, "It's more important for me to fit in with this world, than to remind people of your sacrifice."

I could never

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