Come walk with me.

Sunday I arrived a little later than usual to the building. As I hurried to my last minute preparations for my class I was interrupted by a sweet lady who with a man twice her size in tow was coming down the hall toward me. "This guy needs to talk to a minister, or somebody" she spouted as she released his arm like a child learning to ride a bike. Indeed his momentum carried him a few feet more and I was face to face with my interruption. I said, "come walk with me". We went into my office and the very large, very angry, very-tattoed, self admitting colors toting CRIPS gang member told me through his tears that he had nearly been killed my his wife (baby-mama) the night before, and nearly killed her in the same moment, that he had considered going back to prison an easier path, wanted to just go "rob somethin" and did not know if he could stay clean till his parole was up.

Ok, how do you do anything worth while with an intake that starts with such ferocity? I sat quietly trying to look smart. The mammoth tattooed man sat crying through one tissue at a time. He's got a huge marijuana leaf tattooed on the top of his bald head, several chinese symbols around his neck, a few crude prison "tats" here and there. His monochromatic blue shirt and pants bespeak his gang affiliation. His hands are cut and scabbed from combat during the night and his right eye is swollen nearly shut. He's not completely sober from a night of sleeping and drinking in the streets of Lubbock. He smells of bad booze and poor hygiene. Frankly, I'm a little scared. If he gets angry I have no escape.

I offered comfort and hope in a package that I wasn't sure would even work for this troubled man, at least not very quickly. He humbly thanked me for listening. He really didn't expect me to fix it, but thanked me for my time and even apologized for his unannounced arrival. Through the time of our conversation he apologized over and over for his semi-drunken state, for his occasionally colorful language, his actions toward his wife, and twenty other of his crimes. This man was broken.

I offered that he could stay by my side through class and church. That would be awkward and uncomfortable. Not only for him, but even for well meaning folks. I offered the comfort of our "outreach church" called Carpenter's Church, but then remembered they now meet in the afternoon. Then I told him about a soup kitchen we run across the street and asked if he wanted to go there. He said he would. I also said that if he would come back at 11:30 I would gladly take him to lunch. He said he'd like that. I proceeded to class where we prayed for my new friend and then to worship where I sat in the back looking at our congregation wondering what that assembly would have felt like for him. I was sad.

After church I took another family to help me translate and to help share conversation with this new friend to lunch. It was pleasant and awkward in equal amounts. Afterwards I knew that I might not ever really see this guy again. As we talked about his plan to ride a bus back to South Central LA I told him, "take hope, my brother. You're just the kind of guy that God can use." (I'm thanking Eddie Sharp for that line)

Today I have wondered where my friend is. Supposedly he boarded a bus and headed off with all he owns in two small duffles for a place where he believes he may find his mom, some peace, a new job and I pray as he said he would, find Jesus. So now he's busted his parole, left his girlfried and his son behind, and looking for a fresh start. He said he'd call me in a few weeks. I pray he does.