Infected

He told me my Christianity is like a disease.
A contagious virus that threatens to infect everyone I come in contact with.
And I can't control it. I can't choose to not infect. Because I'm a carrier.
I carry Christianity like a snot-nosed-kid carries a cold.

I told him my intentions were not to infect him.
I'm not trying to "christianize" anyone.
But apparently I don't get to choose. It's just who I am.
I have an ailment, a sickness, a virus, a malady.
I am contaminated, and if you spend too much time around me, you may catch it too.
Catch...belief. Catch faith. Catch God.

But don't worry, not everyone gets it.
Some people are strong enough to fight it off.
Some people, like him, are immune. Or so he says.
But I suppose there's always a chance.
Always a chance you could run into me and your life could be changed forever.

For a moment this grieved me. I was frustrated that I could not control it.
For a moment I was confused and puzzled at this new concept.
And then a thought....
A thought that went something like this:

Maybe, just maybe, I am carrying not a disease, but rather, a cure.

What if you're the sick one, and I have the answer?
What if what I am carrying will save your life?

You're already dying. Why not take the chance?
Whether it's a disease or a cure, I really don't care.
Come, drink my tonic.
Or my toxin, perhaps.
Be infected.
Be infected with me, friend.
And we'll start an epedemic.

An epedemic of the cure.