Jesus Lives in West End

Week two has come and gone. We had three groups this time. The difference in the kids this week was like night and day. They all arrived around the same time Sunday afternoon. After dinner, orientation, and a couple games of Egyptian Rat Slap (a card game), I could tell we were in for not just a productive work week but a productive growing week as well.

We started work on Ms. Gibson's house on Monday. She is a woman in her late forties to early fifties. She lost her job as a result of the poor economic times. She was recently elected president of her neighborhood and had a beautiful garden that brought a sense of hope and brightness to her otherwise run down street. As we pulled up to her house, a red bird flew in front of my windshield. It reminded me of my Gran and gave me a feeling of affirmation in what I have chosen to do this summer. Gran loved red birds. I miss that woman. I miss the sight of her hands - arthritic ridden and curled as though she was constantly holding on to an imaginary something. I miss the sound of her voice and the feeling of love and belonging I had when she called me "Sweets." I miss her smell. She always smelled so clean as if she had just applied non-scented lotion not minutes before. Sometimes when I'm home, I'll catch a faint lingering of her scent. I always pause for a moment to allow myself to fully inhale the clean scent that was once hers.

I tell that antecdote to attempt to describe the woman my grandmother was. I'm thankful for the red bird I saw that day not just for the nostalgic feeling and sense of purpose it gave me but for the reminder of the importance of grace and hope it gave me after the last frustrating week. Never had there been a woman filled with so much kindness and grace towards people and hope for the future like my Gran.

We made fabulous progress the first day on the site, and my group was determined to finish the house by the end of the week after seeing how much they had accomplished in one day.

On Tuesday night, Michael spoke about his life growing up during the Civil Rights movement and his struggle with drugs. He talked about being arrested multiple times for marching and protesting in Birmingham. He talked about first becoming addicted to marijuana and then moving to more hard core subsintences. "Life will probably be a struggle until the day that I die," he said. When he bagan to talk about his children and being addicted to drugs when they were younger he started to choke up. It was his daughter that finally pushed him to get help. With tears in his eyes he told us that she looked at him one day and said, "Daddy, I'm tired of people saying bad things about you. When are you going to wake up?" With that, he got help from a local church and lived there for eight months while getting clean. He and the pastor then formed a program that 1,400 drug addicts came through to get help. Michael helped lead the program and every one of them in their struggle to recover. Dietrich Bonhoeffer says in his book The Cost of Discipleship, "As Christ bears our burdens so ought we bear the burdens of our fellow men." Michael is the perfect example of one who is filled with grace and lovingly lets that grace overflow to others through the bearing of their burdens.

Michael used to sing in various gospel groups. He still loves to sing. After his talk, with tears still in his eyes, he sang a song. As he sang, he stood with such a commanding confidence that not an eye could look from him. The tears then transferred from his eyes to my own.

By Wednesday, most of the big work on Ms. Gibson's house had been completed except for small trim and touchup work. When we brought her outside to show her the look of pure joy and appreciation on her face was indescribable. She bought small thank you gifts or all of the kids and gave the group a beautiful wall hanging and card. In the words of one of my favorite authors, Geraldine Brooks, "And so, as it generally happens, those who have most give least, and those with less somehow make shrift to share."

On Thursday, I took my group to the community garden, a garden in the middle of West End where people can come work for an hour or so in exchange for fresh produce. Families can also rent small plots and grow their own food. Fresh produce is hard to find in West End.

Jesus lives in West End. I saw him on Thursday. Her name is Tamisha. As I dropped my group off at the community garden some of the kids from the Urban Kids Program, an enrichment program for 25 urban children during the school year and summer, were walking towards the building. Tamisha and I were about five feet away from each other when I got out of my truck. As soon as she saw me, her face lit up with pure joy. She gave me one of the biggest, most heart-felt hugs I have ever received in my life. I had never met Tamisha until that day, but the love that she looked at me with and hugged me with was unmatchable.

Later that night I was thinking about Tamisha and our encounter. I had done nothing to deserve such an act of love and kindness from Tamisha. I had never even met her until that day, but she showed me a kind of love in that one hug and five minutes we spent together that is rarely felt. I think that is what Jesus was getting at when he said, "Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." The older we get, the harder it seems to become to show people unwarranted love. I'm thankful for Tamisha, not for just the love she showed me but for the lesson she taught me.

Whereas my last post was more about grace, this one is more about love - the love that we receive and don't deserve and the love that we possess but fail to give. That's my goal for the next week - to flood these groups and West End with pure, unwarranted love.

With that said, I love all of you! Peace.