It’s Thursday, March 31st. The rain is falling consistently,
creating a calming soundtrack for the day. . .
Steam leaves my cup of hot tea
and I sit here simply absorbing everything going
on, in and around me.
I started flipping through my journal and came across something a wrote during church this month, another moment just like this. Simply capturing the experience in words–I wanted to share it with you.
“I’ve forgotten how difficult ministry like this is, I’ve forgotten how strong of a hold alcohol and shame can have on someone’s life. Sitting at the Long Grass Mansion for the last weekend of ministry I just watch the men and women come and go. Peter, my friend, waved “bye” as he walked towards the door. Each step a little slower than the next, reaching into his pocket reassuring himself the same contents remained. Arriving to the door, the suns light cast an outline of his silhouette. The humid air hits his face, life is once again, as it has always been. He looks to the left and to the right and with a deep breath begins walking with no destination in mind.
(This is Peter)
The vision to minister to the untouchables, the unnoticed, the lost, is the sight of Jesus. The flesh is not able to comprehend purpose in such a ‘hopeless’ state. I was humbled, brought back to the years of my youth when my father promised to pick me up for a date and would not show up, When these men and women–Whom I’d been pouring my heart out to, when they promised to come back the following week. . . and wouldn’t show up. To so desperately want change for them, to fight for them, and the frustration that overcomes our flesh when they aren’t fighting for themselves, but instead return to what they know. The aroma of urine, sweat, alcohol, and dirt flood my nose and there’s no place I’ rather be. Even if I just sit, through Christ, I will represent a glimmer of hope, a spark of light, a fight.”
