Trillions of Memories

5/15/09…At 5:12 am, I woke up. This is unusual for me, especially since I went to bed at 12:03 am, and yet Father I had a dream of a funeral for my Grandma Caines. And in this funeral there were those who were asked to play music for her and speak on her behalf and yet they truly did not know her, so instead those who did know her spoke up…and I could see the cackling hens making their presence known (note: cackling hens were a term of endearment given to my three aunts and my mom).

And now it seems You gave me a gift of words to write if only I am willing to lose some sleep and sit down and type, so I thank You.

In my dream, I saw myself standing in front of the family. I could see their faces. You then help me use my imagination to imagine what heaven will be like. It will not be grief when we meet our loved ones on the other side, instead it will be the gift of memory. In our flawed selves, we tend to lose memory over time, and yet maybe we do not. Louie Giglio, a renowned preacher passionate to connect in a meaningful way, said once in a message that there are trillions of cells in our bodies. And yet our minds have trouble grasping a number such as a trillion.

The perspective he offered was this…a million seconds ago, 12 days ago…my mind can grasp this number. A billion seconds ago however, try the year 1975. Now my mind begins to strain somewhat in comprehension. At a trillion though is when my mind begins to lose its grasp of such a number because a trillion seconds ago, try the year 29,700 Before Christ.

Our bodies contain trillions of cells. I wonder how many of those trillions are dedicated to memory.

Indeed Father, I wonder about memory, and what is our memory. What causes us to remember climbing on a sycamore tree, or watching Eric dip his face in a wheelbarrow of black mud, or seeing Avery catching a lizard, or sitting in Grandpa’s old Ford pickup truck on the way to get a treat? Each of the family, whether it be Aunt Loretta or cousin Penny or sister Tina have different memories of Grandma Caines, different memories of her house, and different memories of Loris, South Carolina. I wonder if each of those little memories is stored as a living cell in our brain. With trillions of cells in our bodies, I guess it is possible, but I do not know. Oh Father, for some reason You created us so we remember, why is that? You also created us so we forget, why is that? Yes, memory is there all our lives but it tends to lose the vivid detail over time. Is this not true? A fresh memory for us is colorful, vibrant and alive. A distant memory is one of fondness but a gradual hazing of detail. All we know is it makes us feel good to still hold onto a remnant of a good memory. The freshness is like a fresh tomato spot on our shirt that we laugh about. With enough time and a good detergent stick, we can wipe the spot away, but yet is it not true with a tomato spot, there is still a faint remnant there that is hard to totally erase…

My mind jumps back to the dream.

And in my dream, Grandma Caines died. All we have as the family are our memories and our hope of seeing her one day in heaven. These are the words You seem to have me writing now. I wonder if they hold true. When our time comes, and we die, when I die, I imagine myself suddenly in the presence of heaven, and in my mind all I can imagine is a lot of shining white brightness and a glow. I imagine an unbelievable calmness like sitting in a boat in the middle of a lake where no wind is blowing and no ripples in the water are present. The lake is so calm one might be tempted to step out of the boat and walk on the water.

Then I see Grandma Caines in the distance. I see her as Grandma, because I think You will have each of us see her in the way we knew her. Uncle Royce will see her as Mom, Avery will see her as Great Grandma, and yet she will not be just that way. She will also be young, and vibrant, and glowing. And in that instant I believe there will be a flood, not of water, but of memory. Every memory of her not only with us, but every good memory she had in her entire life will suddenly meld with our memory of her, so we get to see not only who she was with us, but we see the complete her, who she was with every person that crossed paths with her, both here on earth and there with You. Our good memories will connect us in a web that is so wonderfully intricate, we cannot fathom the possibilities and how far reaching it will be. Can one imagine such a moment as this? Everything that is good and is of You all in one glorious awakening. Dare I say trillions of memory cells will be present when we meet, and the good is so good, it envelopes us with a joy so immense we can barely contain ourselves. Maybe that is why Your will for our lives is to do good to glorify You. In one incredible moment, our collective memories embedded deep in our cells suddenly come back to life and connect us in a way we never knew was possible.

Part 15 of 18: Stuart

4/29/09…Tonight was a good night in the street ministry because I met Stuart. He is meek in his demeanor but confident in his words. For an entire hour he preached the word of God to me, but first he had to quench his thirst so I watched as he gulped an entire bottle of water in mere seconds. Then he proceeded with the words of God. His Bible was open and draped over his forearm as if his arm was held out for a woman to take but instead his bride was God. Such simple phrases came from his mouth about the truth of God. Honestly I could have stood there all night and listened to him. He is homeless and he is supposed to be leaving for Greenville, Mississippi in the morning. Yet somehow I doubt this will happen. He says he has a Mom and Dad there and his Mom receives his check so he is not sure if she loves him or wants him there for his check. I assume Stuart is on welfare, or maybe mental disability, not sure which. He says he really desires his independence and wants to be on his own as he quotes scripture to support this desire.

His faith is black and white. There is no gray area. Either something is of God or it is of the Devil. Over and over he reiterates this phrase. To Stuart, it is quite clear to him where the lines are drawn. He says there is despair in Jackson’s streets, to which I agreed after a terrible night last week, but as I tell him, our hope is in our God. He says the churches need to do more for the homeless, not just in giving or feeding them, but in telling them about the Word. He says he would house them all and tell them all about God but he does not have the money. His depth of knowledge of the Bible is humbling and the pages of his Bible are clearly worn from daily use.

Thank you Father. What a blessing given undeservedly to me. I was becoming weary trying to do good for You, but in Your love, You cross my path with someone who gave me such hope and lifted me up when I came down to lift others up. Oh God, You showed me a city on a hill and a light in a lamp post in order to give me hope once again and renew my energy in the street ministry. Thanks be to You for Stuart and thanks be to You for all blessings.

I was saving a bottle of water in the van for myself because I knew I would be thirsty at the end of the night. But in the moment I knew my thirst had been filled by You my Father. So I went to the van, got my bottle of water, and gave it to Stuart so that his earthly thirst may be filled. In the moment, I loved him more than I loved myself; therefore I gave him my water. I let Stuart know I loved Him as my brother in Christ. I prayed for him, and in the dim moonlit night we parted ways, both of us somehow not so alone, nor so weary.

Part 14 of 18: A Homeless Journey

4/22/09…I am troubled tonight and therefore I cannot sleep. Some five weeks removed from serving the homeless and afflicted, I once again trek down there because of my joyful heart for what God has done for me and my gratitude. I have come to rest in His words, “Be still and know I am God.” Yet tonight I felt so lonely. The ride over in the van felt good, like home, but Bob F. was unable to attend because of his own weariness, and I sense the same weariness in him that attacked me. We arrive and I reconnect with my friends who serve alongside me, Bridgett, Michael, and of course the Greene’s. Yet it is not the same. To some degree I felt like I deserted them over these last five weeks, but I felt my heart was just not in it and to go would have been out of duty or a sense of obligation, both of which I promised myself I would never do…so I did not go.

Visiting Miss Dorothy was special, but I am not sure she remembered me, although it did feel good to pray for her. It didn’t feel good that I had forgotten Darius’s name (a ten year old kid I met in her neighborhood) or at least I thought I did but later realized I didn’t, but at the time I was unsure of saying it in case I called him by the wrong name. Darius asked about Liv, one of our street ministry team. I believe I have lost some trust with him by not seeing him in five weeks. It did feel good to see Miss Gladys, Miss Dorothy’s sister. After visiting with her, we made our way to the Opportunity Center and along the way we pick up Sir Dan off the streets. I also meet Evan but that was it. In five weeks so much has changed. None of my friends were there and what once felt like home felt strange and empty as though I deserted them while trying to get through a difficult season in my walk. It seemed distant and I felt no connection to anyone. Before people would magically appear before me as if drawn to me, and tonight nothing so I wonder what God was trying to say to me. Maybe He rewards the faithful who stay steadfast even among difficulties. Maybe I have to build that trust again, but does He want me to press on if my heart is not postured right? I don’t know…

Then Bob G. tells me about Dewayne and how he is telling his friends in his machismo act that “we are stupid, and they should take us for everything we got.” Bob G. says Dewayne and some of his “friends” asked for a ride last time and took them on a wild goose chase in bad parts of the city as if they were trying to set them up. Bob’s face grimaces. Bob has spent a lot of time trying to connect with Dewayne. What happens though when you try to love those who do not want your love and may even wish harm upon you? I can see this is wearing on Bob.

My head lowers. All my joy in returning to the ministry seemingly evaporates…

Easter Invitation

4/12/09…”It is finished”…Father, it is Easter Sunday, and I awoke early in the a.m., somehow feeling the need to express what You have done for me in writing, but my thoughts turn to another. There is an image etched into the recesses of my mind causing it to continually replay over and over. I wonder if this is why You created memory. I also wonder about the miracle of memory, almost like data stored in my brain waiting for Your finger to press a button and download it at the appropriate time.

A week ago Sunday, I heard one of the most touching messages from a pulpit. In detail it described the crucifixion process, not in cold hard facts, but in cold hard emotion. For the first time in my life I understood some small measure of what Your Son went through, but I quickly remind myself I was not there so any attempts to truly understand are feeble at best. However, I can picture this as the pastor begins describing the crucifixion process. First, spikes are driven through both Christ’s hands, probably through the wrist area so the bones on either side could support sinking flesh. Then, a spike is driven through the left foot’s flesh into the right foot’s flesh as both feet are overlapped. And now begins the process of dying. Slowly His muscles in His arms begin to cramp. The cramps travel slowly from the forearms to the shoulders like a slow pouring out of molasses. They become so agonizing there is no relief, instead only hours of somehow trying to reposition Himself to alleviate the pain. Then slowly the leg cramps begin traveling from the calves to the thighs. Father, I have felt what a calf cramp feels like, it is an excruciating contraction of the muscle. In fact one time I recall falling down in agony on a gym floor with the only relief coming from someone taking their hand and pushing the top of my foot towards my head to relax the muscle. And now I think of Your Son because there was no one to do this for Him. Instead all He had was a metal spike mocking Him because any attempt by Him to push Himself up on the cross to alleviate the pain would in turn be met by the pain of His flesh being ripped apart by the spike. Father I could not endure 30 seconds of a calf cramp, how did Your Son endure HOURS OF THIS HELL?? I am so tired for waking up early to write these words that I am numb to the tears that want to flow. And now your finger presses the button and downloads the memory from a week ago…

In a church of which there are seated thousands in the pews, the preacher finishes his lesson and begins the invitation to those who want to accept that Jesus in fact was the Son of You. Normal protocol dictates the preacher goes through some standard words called the invitation. It is true that some part of me has become numb to these words because I have heard them repeatedly over the course of my life. Somehow they have lost meaning to me, which should trouble me, but it seems so impersonal because I am not the one uttering them. And I think of, let’s say, a faithful church attendee, who is 50 years old and let’s say they have attended church faithfully every week for 30 years…50 times a year times 30 years is 1,500. One thousand five hundred times this person has heard an invitation. I say, one thousand five hundred times. Isn’t it true that any one of us would become numb to this? The invitation has lost its taste, much like a piece of Godiva chocolate. In fact, I think of the first time I ate a piece of Godiva and I recall the wonder of its creaminess and the rush of endorphins in my body. Oh what a wonderful feeling of heightened sense and how satisfying it was. However, I wonder if I ate 1,500 pieces of the same chocolate if my body would respond the same way…

And now in the midst of thousands of people, a man arises from a pew. I see him from the corner of my eye. The preacher has not finished his habit. He is supposed to offer the standard words, and everyone in the congregation is supposed to remain seated until he asks for us to stand. This allows for some time for the deacons to position themselves in front to receive those who would come forth to make a decision. But this man could not wait. The preacher continues his habit, and this man breaks protocol and arises while thousands of people are still seated. I see him. Everyone sees him. The preacher sees him and for a moment he loses track of his habit, but quickly recovers and continues his standard rehearsed words. In the meantime this man is trying to do everything in his power to climb over eight people still seated in his pew so he can make it to the aisle. I have never seen such purpose in my life, and I have never witnessed such brokenness arising from a seat knowing that the only thing standing between him and salvation is making it to this aisle. I imagine he stepped on many feet and he bumped many knees just trying, trying, TRYING to make it to the aisle where the path was unobstructed to the front of the church. As I sit and watch this spectacle being played out before me, an emotion arises in me, and tears begin forming in the corner of my eyes as I experience the pain and brokenness of another man whom I do not even know, and who in desperation is trying to make it to the aisle…

And I think of the thief on the cross, who for six hours endured his pain, but in a moment of reflection as He witnessed the One without reproach enduring the same pain, cried out to the One above reproach, and Jesus did not say…go and be baptized, or start going to church for a year to understand more of who I am, or go start tithing your income each week, or go do penance. No. He simply told him, You have acknowledged me, so today You will enter the kingdom with me. And now thousands of years later a man in a church has heard this same message. Come as you are. And as I continue to watch this surreal moment play out, this man makes it to the aisle, and as my son Avery told me later, as the man in a half run makes it to the front of the church, he almost collapses before he makes it to the altar because of the weakness in his legs, because years of painful cramping can no longer support his weight. And this man, this huge man bulging in a suit which cannot contain his muscles, does indeed collapse before an entire congregation of thousands and asks Jesus to come into his life…

And Father this is what I think of when I think of Easter Sunday…thank You for downloading a memory…thank You for an invitation.