Grasping

  I didn't want to live at Oliver Gospel Mission.  I knew some guys did, but it just wasn't for me.  I couldn't sleep with 27 other guys snoring all night.  I was sleeping during the day at the library or the park.  The library didn't like people sleeping, so I found a way to get around that.  If a security guard poked me to wake up, I would say "Amen", as if I had been praying.  They couldn't say anything about that.  I did pray a lot.  Every night, I would pray to God to "deliver me from this hellhole".  

 I was grasping for anything to get me out of being homeless.  I knew a lot of preachers in the city, and I thought one might have an idea of someone looking for a roommate.  Maybe an older person who wanted a companion.  I emailed all of the pastors I knew.  I got one response from a church and made an appointment.  The pastor told me of one of their ministers who helped those in need.  We had a nice talk about life; my seminary days; and what I needed.  I told him I needed a car and a place to live.  He told me of a program in town that gave cars to the poor, who couldn't afford one.  They were high mileage cars that had been refurbished.  He also told me about a woman, who lived near Lake Murray who needed a man to clean her yard and stay over her garage.  I may have mentioned before that I hate yard work.  During our discussion, the minister asked a strange question.  He asked if I was a member of his church, because he didn't see my name on the membership roll.  I told him that I wasn't.  I was an old friend of the pastor.  Then, he said that he couldn't help me.  He said that if they helped everyone who came off of the street, that the line would be out of the door and down the block.  I thanked him.  He said that if he heard of anything, he would let me know.  I never heard from him.  I didn't go see the woman near Lake Murray, and I never got a car.  Had I not heard that voice from God, while trying to commit suicide, I would have been turned off of the church altogether.

 The next Sunday, I joined First Baptist Church.  Or maybe "rejoined", since I had done it twice before.  The pastor greeted me at the front and told me how much my parents had meant to him and this church.  I thanked him, and at that moment forgave him for snubbing me when my mother had her stroke in 1991.  I had harbored ill feelings for him for 18 years.  I'm thankful that God brought me back.  Forgiveness is necessary to move on, especially when the other party has no idea what they did.  I went through the new member orientation and was recognized in a service for coming home.  I also resigned myself that I didn't need to grasp for straws anymore.  I had a church home and a bed at the Mission.  And one other thing:  I gave up cussing like a sailor.