“I’m gonna smash that [Expletive Deleted] piece of [Expletive deleted] over his [Expletive deleted]. I’m gonna kill that [Expletive deleted] cop!”
I sat in the lower floor of the cramped EMC pregnancy center lifehouse. A full size bunkbed, table, and couch took up the majority of the narthex sized living room. I sat on the couch thinking, mulling over life in a world of my own. Apparently walking back and forth with a megaphone, an unmarked white van, and casual conversation had lead the drug dealer next door to believe I was a police officer. A black, angry, ghetto thug. He gathered a small group that fluctuated between 2-4 people over the course of an hour and a half. I had no idea the cop reference was about me
until a somewhat excited and speedy Dave came downstairs.
“So Jake, that black guy out there thinks you’re a cop and is saying he’s going to smash you over the head when you come out.”
“Oh… uh…”
“Come upstairs Jake, we gotta go.”
“Dave… doesn’t that guy wanna kill me?”
“You’ll be allright!”
I thought to myself… the black man doesn’t want to kill Dave. So I feel as if his feeling of safety and motivation is more warranted than mine. I much rather would stay inside, we had bars on the window and uh… light bulbs? So I’m not gonna lie. I hesitated. Dave went upstairs, and I sat there. I’ve never really been afraid for my life or anything like that.
I guess I wasn’t afraid for my life. I just didn’t want to be annoyed. Like knowing you have to take the trash out, your mom’s screaming to hurry up, and you are on the phone with a really attractive girl making progress toward understanding her heart. Yet in the background is a piercing call to empty the trash receptacle sounding forth louder and louder. The concept of getting into a bloody street brawl was like an annoying nag. The screams had gone on for awhile, violent and angry
I listened.
“That piece of [Expletive delted] cop is gonna [Expletive deleted] die…” screamed the angry lover of Tupac, hater of Faith Hill into my bedroom window.
“I don’t wanna get stabbed right now, that’s kind of exhausting, like fighting for my life is kind of obnoxious.” I thought to myself.
Let alone it was rude to let the drug dealer perpetuate a sterotype, he certainly could do something like hug Mr. suspected police officer. It would help public relations a ton. Truth was I did have to go outside and up the stairs to the second floor. There was a very low gate offering pathetic piece of mind. A midget could comfortable see over it, and respectably the late Gary Coleman would have stood a head taller than Mr. Wilson from Home Improvement at this gate.
Yet, I wasn’t called to be a wuss. I was called to be a Christian. Work to do, shanks to dodge, ya know? So I walked up the stairs, didn’t make eye contact with the official spokesperson for Haterade. A friendly Mexican gang member stood next to him, also discussing the latest trends in Cop management, and how much they love government spending. I quickly entered the main floor, where most of our makeshift staff and several others from EMC made plans.
“So that guy out there wants to kill me.” I said…
“ Yeah it’s true.” Affirmed Dave, lending his strong moral support.
Then everybody left for the van.
I know it might seem strange of me to hesitate to walk out to the van. Something was just plain uninviting between the Mexican and the angry drug dealer. Yet once again, I had to go out for ministry. So I made my peace with God, walked outside. Nervous, even a little shaky, I walked out through the small uncomforting gate, down the sidewalk, and between the two rageaholics.
I now know Exodus a little better.
Strange to stand between two forces, two people who have a vendetta to end me. Pulled in absolution to end my life.
The Israelites walked through the dead sea thousands of years ago. I think I’ve missed that. I don’t stop to think about it often. I read through Exodus like a VHS set on fast forward. Maybe that’s why God tells us to meditate. To dwell on the fact that millions of people crossed in haste a sea. Waves parted into walls on the left and the right. Maybe the Israelites could see massive fish, old sunken ships, fossils, rocks, sea shells, coral. It would have been foreign, alien. They escaped danger to enter into this new world and leave Egypt, through an unexplored foreign path, only to arrive on the other side in a wilderness.
Shocking. World shattering. As a little child you could have seen your imagination lived out, conch shells bigger than heads, sea anemones, urchins, crabs. Then I remember that the sea parting was the relieving part! Pharoh’s armies pursued behind them…
This all reminds of a psalm that means a lot to me… It says in Psalm 77:19-20
“Your path lead through the sea, your way through the mighty waters, though the footprints were not seen. You led your people like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron.”
Psalm 77 talks about all the incredible accomplishments of Exodus, and ends by telling us that God knew what He was doing.
I safely arrived at the white van. Looking back at the violent hoodlums. Wondering what to do about them. Thurstin our body guard, and Chandler the brave cameraman took cupcakes and gave them to the two guys. They promptly ate them. So Chandler gave them more. The yelling faded. The drama over. The night went on and we traveled to Times Square once more. Ministry went on. No shanks were used.
In the dark moments of life it’s easy to get caught in fear, to believe in a terrible future, where pain and suffering have rigged the path. Yet God kicked up the dust, crushed some footprints into the ground, and marked a path beautiful and poetic. The most dangerous place is safe when in the hand of God. As the waves of life surround us we can firmly, and confidently remember, that God has a plan. Sometimes it is so crazy, so risky, so epic… it is underwater. It is where we last look. It is when we are at the precipice of hopelessness a way will open up. That… that is glorious. I hope those two guys get saved. They were a little offset by cupcakes. Maybe that act of love will win the day.
I sat in the lower floor of the cramped EMC pregnancy center lifehouse. A full size bunkbed, table, and couch took up the majority of the narthex sized living room. I sat on the couch thinking, mulling over life in a world of my own. Apparently walking back and forth with a megaphone, an unmarked white van, and casual conversation had lead the drug dealer next door to believe I was a police officer. A black, angry, ghetto thug. He gathered a small group that fluctuated between 2-4 people over the course of an hour and a half. I had no idea the cop reference was about me
until a somewhat excited and speedy Dave came downstairs.
“So Jake, that black guy out there thinks you’re a cop and is saying he’s going to smash you over the head when you come out.”
“Oh… uh…”
“Come upstairs Jake, we gotta go.”
“Dave… doesn’t that guy wanna kill me?”
“You’ll be allright!”
I thought to myself… the black man doesn’t want to kill Dave. So I feel as if his feeling of safety and motivation is more warranted than mine. I much rather would stay inside, we had bars on the window and uh… light bulbs? So I’m not gonna lie. I hesitated. Dave went upstairs, and I sat there. I’ve never really been afraid for my life or anything like that.
I guess I wasn’t afraid for my life. I just didn’t want to be annoyed. Like knowing you have to take the trash out, your mom’s screaming to hurry up, and you are on the phone with a really attractive girl making progress toward understanding her heart. Yet in the background is a piercing call to empty the trash receptacle sounding forth louder and louder. The concept of getting into a bloody street brawl was like an annoying nag. The screams had gone on for awhile, violent and angry
I listened.
“That piece of [Expletive delted] cop is gonna [Expletive deleted] die…” screamed the angry lover of Tupac, hater of Faith Hill into my bedroom window.
“I don’t wanna get stabbed right now, that’s kind of exhausting, like fighting for my life is kind of obnoxious.” I thought to myself.
Let alone it was rude to let the drug dealer perpetuate a sterotype, he certainly could do something like hug Mr. suspected police officer. It would help public relations a ton. Truth was I did have to go outside and up the stairs to the second floor. There was a very low gate offering pathetic piece of mind. A midget could comfortable see over it, and respectably the late Gary Coleman would have stood a head taller than Mr. Wilson from Home Improvement at this gate.
Yet, I wasn’t called to be a wuss. I was called to be a Christian. Work to do, shanks to dodge, ya know? So I walked up the stairs, didn’t make eye contact with the official spokesperson for Haterade. A friendly Mexican gang member stood next to him, also discussing the latest trends in Cop management, and how much they love government spending. I quickly entered the main floor, where most of our makeshift staff and several others from EMC made plans.
“So that guy out there wants to kill me.” I said…
“ Yeah it’s true.” Affirmed Dave, lending his strong moral support.
Then everybody left for the van.
I know it might seem strange of me to hesitate to walk out to the van. Something was just plain uninviting between the Mexican and the angry drug dealer. Yet once again, I had to go out for ministry. So I made my peace with God, walked outside. Nervous, even a little shaky, I walked out through the small uncomforting gate, down the sidewalk, and between the two rageaholics.
I now know Exodus a little better.
Strange to stand between two forces, two people who have a vendetta to end me. Pulled in absolution to end my life.
The Israelites walked through the dead sea thousands of years ago. I think I’ve missed that. I don’t stop to think about it often. I read through Exodus like a VHS set on fast forward. Maybe that’s why God tells us to meditate. To dwell on the fact that millions of people crossed in haste a sea. Waves parted into walls on the left and the right. Maybe the Israelites could see massive fish, old sunken ships, fossils, rocks, sea shells, coral. It would have been foreign, alien. They escaped danger to enter into this new world and leave Egypt, through an unexplored foreign path, only to arrive on the other side in a wilderness.
Shocking. World shattering. As a little child you could have seen your imagination lived out, conch shells bigger than heads, sea anemones, urchins, crabs. Then I remember that the sea parting was the relieving part! Pharoh’s armies pursued behind them…
This all reminds of a psalm that means a lot to me… It says in Psalm 77:19-20
“Your path lead through the sea, your way through the mighty waters, though the footprints were not seen. You led your people like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron.”
Psalm 77 talks about all the incredible accomplishments of Exodus, and ends by telling us that God knew what He was doing.
I safely arrived at the white van. Looking back at the violent hoodlums. Wondering what to do about them. Thurstin our body guard, and Chandler the brave cameraman took cupcakes and gave them to the two guys. They promptly ate them. So Chandler gave them more. The yelling faded. The drama over. The night went on and we traveled to Times Square once more. Ministry went on. No shanks were used.
In the dark moments of life it’s easy to get caught in fear, to believe in a terrible future, where pain and suffering have rigged the path. Yet God kicked up the dust, crushed some footprints into the ground, and marked a path beautiful and poetic. The most dangerous place is safe when in the hand of God. As the waves of life surround us we can firmly, and confidently remember, that God has a plan. Sometimes it is so crazy, so risky, so epic… it is underwater. It is where we last look. It is when we are at the precipice of hopelessness a way will open up. That… that is glorious. I hope those two guys get saved. They were a little offset by cupcakes. Maybe that act of love will win the day.
