My friend Ed

It's been a couple weeks since I've blogged. Needless to say, it's not for lack of content, but time that I've not been as quick to tell you of things going on at ENCM. Thankfully though, Ryan was able to give you all an update on our friend Wesley. One of the most amazing things about any relationship is to watch how people grow and change. It's no different at ENCM. To see our friends, and ourselves, change and grow has an eternal effect.

It's in that same vein that I give you a report on my friend Ed Clark. I met Ed at our Emmaus Fellowship service on Sunday mornings. He's one of the sweetest guys I know and and he's one of the most consistent members of our little rag-tag congregation. A few weeks ago, Ed agreed to sing in one of our Sunday morning services. I had no idea what to expect. Ed picked up a borrowed guitar, pulled out a sheet of lyrics he'd been working on and proceeded to sing a song he wrote about getting High on the Holy Ghost. The words seemed all too personal and spoke of addiction and a marginalized life. Then, right in the middle of the song the bridge opened up and Ed began singing the names of God. He knows more of the names of God than I do and he sang them out with the same confidence of a small child calling out for the safety and affirmation of a parent. It was one of the most beautiful things. I just couldn't get over how good he was. And the rest of the congregants were cheering him on and clapping. The song was about redemption. And about praising the God who can save you from the most desperate of situations, and then about recognizing Him when he does.

A few days later I saw Ed in our Wednesday evening college and young adult service at NFCN where I attend church. He started coming pretty regularly on Wednesday evenings. This particular Wednesday he pulled me aside and told me that he had something to show me. He proceeded to pull out a certificate of completion for a career counseling program he went to at the Salvation Army. He told me it's a program that will help him with job training, and essentially teach him how to keep a job and hopefully, eventually, help him find a job that suites his new and improved resume. He was so proud of himself. And I was proud of him.

I remembered that one Wednesday morning over coffee, Ed had told me that he struggled with alcoholism and that he had tried and failed a number of times in different rehab facilities. He also told me that he hadn't been drinking lately because he'd been in God's word. And now, here's a certificate of completion. Completion... He started and finished the program. He saw it through until the end without alcohol getting in the way. 

So, a certificate from the Salvation Army isn't the most quantifiable of ways to show the effects that ENCM is having on the community, but it means a lot to Ed and it means a lot to me to be able to see the process of redemption in him. And in it all, God is changing me too. I come thinking I have some measure of help to offer Ed, and I do, but I leave realizing that he has so much to offer me as well, that God uses him in my life to teach me about love and redemption as much as he uses me in Ed's life to cheer him on and offer a consistent friendship with someone who believes in his worth.

Grace & peace, 

Melissa

Wesley's Eyes

Somewhere along the line Christians got it wrong (sort of). Many are uncomfortable with the ol’ adage “to accept God into your heart” for arguably good reason. I am less concerned with whether there is a theological battle to be fought than just generally convinced of its physiological inaccuracy. Here’s what I mean: We've missed that God lives in our eyes! I witnessed it the other day.

I saw him today for the first time in at least a month. One of my good friends, Wesley, has been in recovery, and I’ve missed him like you miss a high school friend that got a great scholarship to go to college…on the other side of the country. I thought I missed his bellowing laugh the most—yeah, the one that defies typical barriers like walls, windows, and distance. From up to a 100 meters Wesley's laugh reaches you with that curious combination of hilarity and nuisance. I thought perhaps I missed his stories the most—yeah, the endless stories of navigating the streets after dark, avoiding weapons, embracing liquor, and losing even the memory of comfortable sleep. I thought I missed his hand shake I received every morning before we would sit and share pre-ground, flavorless coffee—yeah, the size and texture of those hands confirmed his barely-believable stories of a hard life on the farm. But it was none of these as much as it was his eyes that I missed.

When I saw him the other day I realized I missed his eyes because in those charcoal, almost purple pearls, I saw Wesley’s whole life—the one he lived and the unveiling of the one to come. In his eyes, he was an honest friend, broken by the streets, cursed by his addictions. In his eyes, the hardship of age and insecurity met with youth. [You know, if you look into someone’s eyes with enough intention, at any age, they become an innocent child, as if their bodies lost the fight of time but their eyes somehow succeeded. Perhaps it’s God’s presence there that preserves our last ounce of innocence and love, even after our bodies have surrendered to this world.] But above everything, when I looked into my friends eyes, I saw God dawning a new day. They spoke of sobriety and hope. They told his story of renewed confidence and self-respect. And they shouted of grace.

For the first time Welsey saw an optometrist. “I didn’t know how bad my sight was,” he told me, “Now I can actually see!” God is in those old eyes, and I was lucky enough to be a witness the other day—even behind those thick-rimmed glasses.

-Ryan