from the marble seeping through my business slacks is not helping the
shivering. The sun hasn’t yet made an appearance this morning, but at least
it’s not raining. My boots, business slacks, pea coat and scarf will have to do
for now.
Adan pops up on my phone. Not cut out for the cold, I eagerly bound towards the
black SUV that has just stopped short in front of the church. A tan-skinned arm
shoots out of the driver window and quickly waves me over.
is a small miracle. It just so happened my first meeting of the morning had just
gotten moved back a few hours, and Rev. Adan has only one hour to meet with me
before he has to preach at a memorial service. At the moment, all I know about
Rev. Adan is that he is a Latino preacher in an at-risk area of Philadelphia, a
stones throw away from Kensington Avenue. We could equate Kensington Ave. to
San Fran’s Tenderloin District, Dallas’ Southside, New Orleans’ 9th
Ward (pre-Katrina). Get the picture?
out behind me. Rev. Adan is on his cell phone continuing a conversation in
Spanish. ‘He must be figuring out the rest of the details for his memorial
service,’ I think as I continue to reply to text messages on my phone. About a
minute passes. I also notice that Reverend Adan smells amazing. Like gay
gingerbread men. And then I realize how odd that thought was. I turn and look
at the large Latino man in the driver’s seat, now off his cell phone.
(My thoughts as I extend a hand for a quick, firm shake) **OHSH**!!**
My face must have
said it just as well, because about the same time I realize I could very well
become the next Lifetime movie
feature (young missionary disappears off of Philly’s notorious Kensington
Ave….), Julio says, ‘Cleary, I am not who you thought I was.’
squeal. ‘I thought you were the pastor I’m supposed to meet at the church!’
scene and realize a few things. Again, Julio smells like a shiny gingerbread
dream. He is big. Very big. Attractive, and has a long scar across his left
cheekbone.
Still chuckling,
Julio responds, ‘No. I am not a pastor. I am a pharmacist.’
Awesome. I have now
officially, voluntarily just hopped
into a drug dealer’s SUV. In one of the roughest ‘burbs in America.
‘Who are
you?’, Julio wants to know. ‘I’m a missionary!’, I squeak back. Here comes
Julio’s chuckle again – mixed with a note of confusion – ‘Oh. I thought you
were a prostitute.’
‘No! I’m a
missionary!’, I squeal again.
If flight or fight hadn’t have already kicked in,
I may have been more amused at the pitch of my voice by this time. It took me
less than an hour to find a lot of humor from this encounter, but this
introduction I will never forget:
a pastor.’
‘No. I’m a drug dealer.
I thought you were prostitute.’
‘No. I’m a
missionary.’
The power of
perception and the AMAZING HAND OF GOD’S PROTECTION AND MERCY!!! The best part
of this story came right after Julio and I established our professions, and
right before I catapulted myself out his car and back to the church, where the
real Reverend Adan was standing on the corner waiting for me.
When I told Julio I
was a missionary, he looked me dead in the eyes and asked me to pray for him.
Again, I had already arrived at fight or flight mode and came to the conclusion
that closing my eyes and laying hands on a man who had just mistaken me for a prostitute
was probably not the best next step. I held his gaze for moment, assured him I
would, then ran like hell to Reverend Adan.
I thought about
Julio a lot that day. I thought about the value of my life, the power of perception,
and I thought about God’s hand over me as I continue to pursue a life of
bringing Kingdom here in the United States. This could have ended so, so bad –
but this experience has further increased my faith in a God that watches me
closely, and blesses me in doing His work. I am still praying for Julio. For
strongholds to be broken in his life, and that one day he’ll be doing ministry
alongside me on Kensington Avenue.
