Jesus Uses Inappropriate Language

Amy and I have been going to Cross Point for several months now. It's been one of the only places I've ever actually wanted to get up and go to on Sunday morning. It's a huge church with several campuses (which used to really make me nervous) but it has never felt impersonal.

Recently, we've been getting plugged in to the many service opportunities. We started a community group, I've been shooting some event photos, and Amy has joined the Notes and Cards ministry - which, is exactly what it sounds like... they send notes and cards to those dealing with grief, requesting prayer...etc. In the first set of requests, Amy was taken back to find a young woman her age who was grieving over the loss of her dad. It was amazing to see how the process of grief provided opportunities to be Christ to others.

It was actually a sermon by one of our pastors, Blake, that encouraged Amy to join the Notes and Cards ministry. After writing to the woman who had lost her dad, Amy emailed Blake to just tell him how the sermon encouraged her. He replied, encouraged by the whole situation, and wanted to meet us. We met up with him yesterday after the service.

I was pretty jacked up for the meeting for a couple of reasons. First, I absolutely love how God has constantly used our sufferings for the benefit of others. Any chance we get to talk about it is awesome. The second and most important reason for my excitement dated back to 2005 when I came across this video:




Though we had been attending Crosspoint for several months, we hadn't been there when Blake spoke until a Sunday in early Spring. Immediately, I recognized him and texted all of my college roommates my discovery.

I told him about the whole situation when we met him yesterday. I told him about seeing the video back in 2005 and how it all came full-circle when I heard him speak at Cross Point. He laughed as he shook his head saying "so stupid..." We talked for a while about the whole situation. I was shocked to hear that this happened while refreshing from the previous weeks' message... He hadn't even started teaching. Though we had some laughs, the most amazing thing was hearing him tell about all of the ridiculous ways that God worked through that video. His ministry grew, he got loads of speaking engagements, and last year he even did an interview with MSN.

I'm so thankful for Cross Point and for the times in life when God takes something like the death of a parent or an inappropriate comment and uses it for His glory.

"When I get to heaven, I'm totally gonna pinch Abraham's t**s," he said.

I replied with: "Just to make it literal."

Blake, if you're reading this, I'm waiting to destroy you on my bike - yeah, I'm kidding... please don't hurt me....

-Jamie

Cause of Death: Lack of Love

It’s been almost a year since my employment ended at a group home just outside of Nashville. There, I did my best to facilitate learning in a room full of young men who, for whatever reason, had been placed in state custody. Most of the students were violent, disrespectful, and manipulative. After a couple of months, the fighting didn’t bother me anymore. Much like living by the train tracks, you eventually don’t even notice. It was hands-down the worst job I’ve ever had. I was called every name imaginable, threatened, and even one day, punched in the chest. It was and still is a terrible company - concerned only with profit. Believing that healing troubled pasts is not a business can cause conflict in a place like that. Like I came to learn, it might even cost you your job.

I learned through ministry that God gave me a gift to work with teens. Being that my dad was an addict, we didn’t have much. Those experiences often took away a students’ ability to say “you don’t understand.” I understood hardship. I also understood when I was being manipulated. Most of the boys in the group home were far more diligent about manipulation than they were about self-betterment. Most of them only wanted to appear changed. The average stay was 4-6 months, so I got used to new students and their creativity in appearing changed.

Months before losing my job, I got a new student named Avery. He was tall, thin, and had dark olive skin. His ethnicity was listed as “black” but he could easily have passed for Hispanic. Avery was different than any of the students. He was soft-spoken and respectful. He made no effort to manipulate. I gave him practice tests for his graduation exams which he diligently worked on in class and after. He always asked if he needed help and thanked me multiple times a day. He was quick to call out others who disrespected me or any of the staff - on many occasions this would lead him into rants. He would remind them of the opportunity they had to start over and reprimand them for wasting our time. The other guys came to see him as a leader.

A look into his student file was heartbreaking. Avery was originally from New Orleans. If my memory serves me right, he never knew his dad and his mom was murdered when he was at a young age. One of his siblings did their best to raise him in NOLA until Katrina sent them North, eventually settling in Nashville. I don’t remember the charge that landed him in state custody, only that it involved him acting to protect someone he loved.

His eagerness to do better gave me inspiration. After getting to know him, he was my motivation to go to work every day. Even after I was fired, I kept up with him through some of the staff. I made sure he got my number, which I heard meant a lot to him. I never got a phone call but I thought about him often. Multiple attempts to look him up went without success, including one just two days ago. After every failed attempt, I prayed for his well-being and thanked God for giving me hope.

Tonight, while watching a film with my class, my phone chimed from a new email - reminding me that I had forgot to silence it. After flipping to silent mode, I checked my inbox to see a response from ApartmentRating.com. Since leaving a negative review of our old apartment complex, I get a notification when someone writes a new review. The responses are usually an entertaining read - each describing the experiences of another terrified tenant with detailed descriptions of how the management told them that “gunshots happen everywhere in Nashville.” Sure enough, the tenant heard gunshots and woke this morning to the news of another murder. I googled the name of our complex. When the search results came up, I was absolutely crushed to see this:

I’m still crushed. I’m crushed at the fact that the kid wanted to do better - could do better, but couldn’t escape his circumstances. I couldn’t help but wonder what might’ve happened if Avery had called me. Could I have made a difference? After reading that it could be gang-related, the whole process has led me to bigger questions like, What if he had grown up in my house? Would he have lived to see 20? I sure think so. If I had walked in his shoes, would that be me on the news? We all live and die by our choices but we are also products of our upbringing. I had struggles growing up but one thing was always clear: I was loved. Bad things happen when kids aren’t loved at home. I can’t stop wondering if Avery truly knew he was loved.

After finding out I had been in ministry, Avery talked to me a lot about my faith. After starting with "I ain't understand NONE of dat shit when I was young," He told me that he had just come to understand Jesus for the first time. 

"I don't know HOW I know all dat's for real... But I know it is... You feel me?" He said.

"I do Avery... I really do."

As I reflect on such a tragedy, my only comfort comes from knowing that, even in his circumstances... grace found him.

"Not a Typical Saturday" or "Donnie"

I spend the majority of my Fridays prepping for one of the two classes I teach at ITT Tech. There are always emails to answer, papers to grade, and since it is a political science class - current events to stay on top of. Two Fridays ago, running late, I turned on the water for a shower and went to get my clothes when there was a knock on the door. I was immediately anxious because, well… we just don’t have good experiences with unexpected company. You know… it’s always that “friend” that you didn’t want to see today… the one who wants something but never offers to return the favor(s).  After realizing that I couldn’t make it from the bedroom to the shower without being seen, I had no choice but to answer the door. When I walked into the living room, I recognized the man standing at the front door. It was Donnie – the middle-aged, mentally challenged man that I always see walking around the busy streets surrounding our neighborhood.

I first saw Donnie at the local barbershop in January. The snow covering Nashville had closed the schools, giving me an unexpected vacation. I had been waiting to get a haircut for a half-hour or so while the barber finished up the only other customer in the shop. Donnie walked in and stood in front of the chair as the first customer was brushing the hair off of his coat. He was tall and thin, and walked almost awkwardly upright. He explained that he needed a haircut, then proceeded to sit down for his purchase. He had such a severe speech impediment that it was extremely hard to understand what he was saying.  The barber, Abe, explained to him that he would have to wait his turn. Abe spoke in the same way that a mother would have explained it to her pre-teen child. Despite his trouble communicating, Abe seemed to understand everything he was saying. After getting frustrated over the wait, Donnie said, “I come back,” and walked back out into the cold. Abe went on to explain to me that Donnie lived nearby and walked everywhere.  We talked briefly about him before being carried away in conversation.

I started noticing Donnie much more around the neighborhood after that. I’m sure he had always been there, it just took meeting him to notice.

~~~~~

“Can you help me?” Donnie said.

“What do you need?” I asked.

Donnie replied with a sentence that I couldn’t understand with the exception of the words “move” and “apartment.”

After repeating what I thought he said, Donnie shook his head in frustration.

Finally I said, “I can’t understand you.”

He replied with the same sentence, only louder.

“I’ll be glad to help you later, but I’ve got to go to work right now.” I replied.

“I come back tuhmowow,” he said. Then he walked away.

~~~~~

Today was a routine Saturday. By “routine,” I mean that nothing went as planned and I still have a full list of things that were to be today’s agenda. I was in the yard working on a friend’s car when Donnie walked up – more than a week after his first visit.

“Can you help me?”

“I sure can, but I have to finish this car first.”

“OK. I come back”

~~~~~

Given my previous experience, I didn’t expect to see Donnie again for a while. Much to my surprise, that familiar knock on the door left little doubt that we had company. Frustrated by another interruption, I answered the door, put on some shoes, and faced the consequences of my words. I had no clue where we were going or what I had agreed to do. All I knew is that “it not far.”

Donnie shook my hand and asked my name, what year I was born, my wife’s name, what year she was born, where we went to high school, where we went to church, and a wealth of other questions. He told me that he was 57, where he went to school, where he went to church, and that he lived with his sister.

Giving me turn-by-turn directions, we reached our destination, which was only a few miles from our house. By the time we got there, I was able to make out some of what he was saying. We were at his uncle’s house who had recently passed away. After a little trouble finding the key in his bag of things, He unlocked the door and started loading a few leftover things from the house into my truck. After getting almost a full load, Donnie motioned for me to follow him back into the house where he led me to a wall-sized oil painting of a sailboat on the sea.

“Will you give dat to your wife? She like dat.”

Taken back by his innocence and kindness, I smiled as I told him, “I sure will Donnie. I think she’ll like it too.”

We left the house with my truck bed full of things from Donnie’s uncle’s house. Just as before, he gave me turn-by-turn directions as to where we were going. A few minutes into the ride, I realized that he was saying “Church of Christ.”  I wondered to myself why we were taking this load of mostly junk to a church. After all, Donnie had made multiple trips to my house and there was such a sense of urgency when he asked for help.

As we pulled into the church parking lot, he pointed to the drive-thru awning at the side entrance. I slowed to a stop right before seeing a sign on the door that read “Donation Drop-Off.” With that same sense of urgency, Donnie got out of the truck and began unloading the things from the truck. I stalled for a minute or so and literally fought back tears. Today, God sent a middle-aged mentally retarded man to show me just how much I lose focus on love.

Here's a pic of the painting. Donnie was right. “She like dat.”