Rumor already has it that Bob is here, which is great to hear but also increases my blood pressure. Service just finished, and I was inside the control room waiting for him to come back and give his thoughts. Rumor has it that he likes to give you feedback, so when Bob comes to your service make sure you’re in the back room when he is. I wasn’t leaving the room for anything.
After almost 3 minutes I decided to leave the room.
I simply leaned against the wall right outside the room. That was a safe play because then I’d see him coming, and he’d see me leaning against the wall. I bend my knee and rest my foot against the wall for casual approachability.
Finally, I was approached.
“Do you work here?” asked a 19-yr old kid, who clearly was not Bob.
I immediately got the impression that this kid didn’t clog the toilet. He didn’t just bump into me and strike up a conversation because he had to kill a couple minutes. He had intent behind his steps and a broken smile. Almost hesitant. Almost scared. Almost second-guessing himself.
“I do,” I replied. Compared to his soft voice, it felt as though I was shouting, and my eyes starting darting across the big room to see if anyone else noticed me yelling. A voice like his you only hear when people seem to have lost their hope and are afraid to ask for help, but somehow manage to find the desperate strength to stand directly in front of you asking for help because they have lost their direction, and I don’t mean, "Where’s the bookstore?"
“I’m not looking for prayer right now, but my life has some holes in it, can you help me?”
I don't know what to say to him.
I don't even know how to look at him. But I am. I’m looking at him and he’s looking at me, expecting. Hoping for something from me.
This is what I feared. This is what scared me about working for church - being put in a position to have to act, like right now, for someone else. Someone I don’t know and someone I may never have known if I were to have stayed at my old job - the old, safe, predictable job.
But I recover - quickly. So quickly in fact that I don't think he notices.
"I would love to," I say, quieter.
I tell him my name and asked him to follow me.
My most natural instincts were to look for someone who could better serve this kid than I. So while he’s following me, thinking we’re going to go somewhere and talk, I set out to find that person to better serve him.
In the next thirty seconds, I walked and wondered. What the heck do I do now? Was there an official first step that I was missing? Where is everyone???
“Is this your first time here?”
“No.”
There’s a failed icebreaker.
“Well, it's great to see you,” and shook his hand.
For the next 10 minutes I listened to him share his story of struggle with addiction and sobriety.
OH! This, I knew something about. It surprised me that he was being so open. I was never this open. I was safe in secrecy. Preferred it actually. But, not knowing what to say, I shared my story with him.
In the bookstore - I showed him a Bible that he should buy.
Then, I walked him into the worship center. Everyone was busy. I led him into the gym hoping to bump into our Worship Leader, our Campus Pastor, or our Addiction Recovery Pastor. No one was there. And so we ended up full circle, back in the worship center.
Any other weekend I would have bumped into each of those people three times over, and in my head I’m pulling the hair out of my head because it’s laughable at how AT THIS MOMENT they are not to be found. There has to be a camera rolling right now and a room full of staff members laughing their heads off while I sweat. I’d be laughing if I were in that room right now.
Today, no such timing or luck. Either way I wasn’t getting out of this, and it was then I realized this kid named John was mine.
“Okay, it’s just me. Do Your thing,” was my prayer.
My knees started to shake as we went back to the bookstore. I walked him around so much that he must have worked up an appetite. I should have offered him a donut, but instead I handed him a Bible. He wanted one; I knew where there was one.
“Can you afford to buy one?”
“Nah, I, uh, have no money,” he whispered with his head down.
So I bought him one.
“So, you busy on Thursday night?” It felt odd to ask that to a guy.
“I don’t think so. Not that I know of,” he said back.
“I’m going to be at Quest 180 on Thursday. It’s our addiction recovery ministry. It’d be nice to see ya there. Maybe we can chat.”
We shook hands and he left. I walked back to the control room, wiping the sweat off my palms and onto my pants, wondering if I did or said the right things.
I learned that I didn’t know what the first step is if someone reaches out to me for help.
I learned that on this day, during this hour, this kid had no use for anyone other than me. Someone who didn’t understand his addiction or sobriety issues wouldn’t get the job done.
I learned that my job isn’t just planning and managing church services and then going home. My job is bigger than that. My job affects lives, and I get to be in the trenches.
I learned that when The Man Upstairs has something planned for you, there’s no escape. No matter how uncomfortable you are, He is confident in what He’s doing.
I thought of that scene the rest of the day and the days that were to follow. John's approach. His words. His walk. And why I was the one person that he was able to track down. I don’t believe it was a coincidence. Had I not waited for the man who never showed, John may have left church even more hopeless than when he arrived.
That's failure on a massive scale.
John came to Quest 180 that next Thursday. Again, I shook his hand and smiled at him.
Today, I’m his sponsor and if he truly wants it, I get to be part of helping this kid get his life on track.
