A Whole 'Nother Groove

• Who can find a virtuous woman?  her price is far above rubies
• She stretcheth out her hand to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy

"Hey, Pastor"

Something I haven't heard in a few months, these words came from the mouth of young black guy in the middle of convenience store in a town I don't live in and haven't worked in, either, for a while.  

For those of you who may not know, until a few months ago, I pastored a small church in a tiny little rural town almost 40 miles from the small town I call home.  I gave it up after a lot of soul searching and tears, but I felt it was the right thing to do, for the church, for my family, and for myself. 

Didn't mean it was easy, though.  

And here I was, several months down the road, in the tiny town for the briefest of stops, grabbing something to drink and a snack, with my head down and not even looking around.  

"Hey, Pastor".  A young man I knew from the jail work crew, who did some remodeling work for us after a leak flooded almost half of our little church.  He was part of the inmate crew who worked the local food pantry we hosted, too, once a month when the big truck came in from the regional food bank to pass out boxes to the needy in the area.  

"I still have the Bible you gave me."  

I'd lost track of the number of Bibles I'd given to these young men, inmates in the parish (county) jail, who requested large print Bibles regardless of their age or eyesight, because of the poor lighting in their cells.  

It started with one request from one inmate.  I didn't have any large print Bibles on hand, but I promised I'd get him one, and I did.  Plain, but sturdy and attractive.  

The next month another one asked if I could get him one, "just like the one you gave him".  I started haunting the sale tables at Christian bookstores, looking for nice large print Bibles.  Soft covers, because the jail rips the covers off of hardback books so the prisoners can't use them to make weapons.  Any translation would do, most of them weren't particular; occasionally I had a request for "one that's easy to understand" because "I'm not a good reader."  

One of the ladies in the church bought one of them a new pair of tennis shoes.  

I used to ask their wives and girlfriends who came to visit them on work days, bringing their little ones with them, if they wanted to sit in the sanctuary and visit, out of the heat and in a quiet place. 

"This is my boy", they'd say proudly, or "my baby girl".  One had an obviously ready-to-give-birth baby momma who came a couple of times.  Only thing was, the baby she brought to visit was his, but the baby she was about to have--not.  

These were young men who had done some crimes, true. But they were so respectful, so appreciative of any little thing we did for them.  

We fed them lunch every time they worked; sometimes something home made, sometimes something "from the corner store", at their request.  (Did I mention that this is a tiny town?  No fast food here, just a store that serves hamburgers and deep-fried everything from behind the counter.) 

Once I was heading the local dollar store to buy some soft drinks for their lunch, and asked if they wanted anything else from there.  "Debbie Cakes" one of them said.  And I obliged. "Bruce, you know you don't need all that sugar!" this from the deputy who ran the work crew.  He takes pride in what he teaches them--a work ethic, and skills that will help them get make a living once they get out--painting, yard work, light carpentry, even plumbing--and more--organization, taking care of tools, having pride in a job well done.  

"How are you doing?" I asked the young man in the store. 

"I'm doing good, pastor". 

When I paid for my drink and food, I told the gal behind the counter to add his lunch to my tab, too.  I couldn't help it, I wanted to feed him one last time.  

As I left the counter, I told him "I got yours" and gave him a big hug.  "You just do good".  

I've really struggled since I gave up my church.  I feel like I'm not sure who I am anymore.  Wife, mother, daughter--these are who I am to my family, but who am I to me? Or to the Lord?

Today was supposed to be a catch-up day on my 5 Days to Clean Challenge, but once again, I didn't get much done at home.  Sometimes I feel so ineffective at the one thing that remains constant in my life, and that's taking care of things at home. "Looking well to the ways of my household". We virtuous women have a big impact on our homes and our families, after all. 

And sometimes we get reminded of the ripples that spread longer and farther than we even realize.   

Until next time...