The air is cold and crisp as I hurry in 5 inch heels to make it to the typical place that I spend my nights. A large man in all black stands at the door as customers wait in a lengthy line to enter. I scurry past the group of those who have waited 10, 20, or maybe even 45 minutes to get in and knowing who I am, the man who is well over my height of 6'1", opens the door and welcomes me in. As I enter, the combination of liquor and beer float through the air; I lean into the bar top to fake an order, my eyes wander around the room, watching, reading, waiting for the opportunity or perhaps just the moment for a stranger to walk up and buy me a drink. No more than 3 minutes pass, before I am shaking hands with a new friend who's breath smells like Jager and who's clothes reek of smoke.
Notes of music change as the d.j. scratches up the mix.
Sweat drips from the brows of those who are dancing.
Laughter fills the air or the air feels laughter; at this time I am unsure.
I watch.
Superficial, surface-level conversation flows between others and myself. A new person is introduced to me. The keys to his Mercedes Benz lie on the countertop next to his double scotch on rocks along with his $10 tip he leaves the bartender each time a drink is made. I hear the words coming out of his mouth but I do not really listen to what he is saying; I can't. My mind is focusing on the people on the dance floor. Perhaps it is because I want to be out there too or perhaps it is because I simply want to be laughing. I watch as the bachelorette and all of her friends dare each other to do things for a quick laugh and for a moment's memory. I watch as girls point across the room to the boys they have had their eyes on. I watch people smile. I watch people converse. I watch people being happy. In the midst of wondering how I ended up where I am, I hear the jingle of the Benz keys as another double scotch on rocks is served. I begin listening to the words coming out of the mouth that has been moving for the past 45 minutes and I learn that he and I are one in the same. Broken.
There was a time in my life when the majority of my time was spent at a place that opened at 10 and closed at 3. There was a time in my life when the biggest and truly only challenge was to see how many free drinks I could score in a night's time. There was a time in my life when the darkness I walked into had become my home. One could call me a bar fly. One could say that I was a party girl. One could even say that I used and abused myself in order to find fulfillment that would only last for a night. I remember those days. I remember the days when drinking was easy. I remember the days when the only way, or so I thought, to forget the pain, was to be drunken to it. I remember learning that the next morning I would still have memories from the past and acknowledging the fact that I really shouldn't have taken the last two free shots, the night before. My head throbbed but not from a hangover. My mind wandered constantly at the choices I had made, the people I had let down, as well as the people who had and continued to let me down. As I pulled my hair into a pony tail, the smoke from the night before left remnants on my hands. The hands that had shook the hands of multiple strangers. The hands of people who's names I had already forgotten. The hands of those who I tried to use to fill the void in not having true friends of my own. I had lost everything prior to this point in my life. I walked away from my family, I lost friends…well, they lost me, and I figured that even if these people wouldn't be my best friend, their conversation would at least suffice. Obviously, I was wrong. This is just a part of my past but the one thing I have learned is that the bar, the club, the places people go during the wee hours of the night; those are the places that hold rooms filled with shattered hearts, broken spirits, and lost souls. My heart goes out to these people because I was one of them.
This is my third month on the World Race and my squad is in Ireland. One of the most popular things here, or actually the MOST popular thing here is drinking. Ironic huh? Something so distinct in my past is something that is so distinct in this culture. This month I decided I wanted to do Pub Ministry and took it into my own hands to just start it up. If you are wondering what this looks like, I will paint you a picture but please, come into this with an open mind and an open heart. I have experience with talking to people in all types of nightlife but the only difference was, I want to dig deep and to have real conversations. I want to truly talk to people and hear their hearts. I want to be able to be there for someone, even if its just for an hour.
Pub Ministry is just that. It is going into a pub or club and having real conversations with real people. It is going into those dark places, whether that be the bar that has one flickering light or the dark places of someone's heart. It is lending an ear and giving words of encouragement and hope. It is speaking life into someone who has almost given up on life altogether. It is exchanging stories and gaining wisdom. It is relating, understanding, and acknowledging, that no matter where we come from, we have the opportunity to go to the same place. It is loving those who believe they are forgotten or unwanted or perhaps for those who are hated. It is answering questions about belief and fixing all misconceptions to who God truly is and how he works. It is being courageous and strong yet tender and kind.
Thus far, I have had the opportunity to speak life into others, to encourage someone in their dreams, to pray for someone's struggle, and to represent what a true Christian is. I have walked into a place where nonbelievers question why I am there and believers criticize me for my intentions. This might seem radical, it might seem dangerous, and it might seem unhealthy but I know undoubtedly that God has called me to do it and he has given me the wisdom and discernment to say and do the right things. Night by night I am learning to love more like Jesus and the home that I once found in the bar, is one that I have learned to carry in myself. I sit here, typing….waiting for you to know and hopefully someday witness, that bar flies can rise.
"The neighborhood bar is possibly the best counterfeit there is to the fellowship Christ wants to give His church. It's an imitation, dispensing liquor instead of grace, escape rather than reality, but it is a permissive, accepting, and inclusive fellowship. It is unshockable. It is democratic. You can tell people secrets and they don't usually tell others or even want to. The bar flourishes not because most people are alcoholics, but because God has put into the human heart the desire to know and be known, to love and be loved, and so many seek a counterfeit at the price of a few beers. With all my heart, I believe that Christ wants His church to be…a fellowship where people can come in and say 'I'm sunk' 'I'm beat' 'I've had it!' "- The Edge of Adventure, Bruce Larsen and Keith Miller
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