Brother Can You Spare a Dime…

…oh heck, how ’bout a twenty?

This week has been all about the Benjamins. I have been thinkin and thinkin about this next stage of my life/career and trying to figure out something I want to do to put chili fries on the table, while having something I look forward to doing every day.

I can write and people enjoy reading what I write. I have made and can continue to make a good living as a freelance technical writer.

I enjoy teaching. Or at least I used to when I was in ministry. I enjoy college students and I might be interested in teaching. Problem there is I would need to go back to school if I want to teach. Bible college degrees are pretty much worthless outside of Fundyville.

It’s cool with me to go back to school, but I don’t want to take that step until I find something I’m passionate about enough to want to teach it.

I can work with the poor/people in crisis. I had an encouraging encounter the other day at Wal-Mart’s jewelry counter that made me very happy. Since I’m rambling I’ll share it with you.

When I think back on my 18 years in ministry I’m a little embarrassed. The absolute authority with which I taught things that now seem less than certain. The amount of time spent doing “ambitious” things that fed my ego and looked good to others. The impatience I exhibited to those who worked with me who didn’t have the ego-driven ambition I did.

I also think about how 18 years of 60+ hour weeks didn’t seem to make much of a difference. We (my redhead and I) thought the people we ministered to had changed; that they had come to adopt a value system much closer to Christ’s. After all, almost all of them had become a part of the church after we arrived (I was at my last church 8 years, starting with just 10 people or so.)

Almost as soon as we left the church, the values changed back to exactly what they were before we arrived.

One of the things I believe we failed at was our ministry to local prostitutes. It was gut wrenching work and when we began we had no idea how difficult it would be. We were in a small town but it was surprising how many women we came across who survived through low-rent prostitution. Most all of them were drug addicted, on welfare and had young children.

One of the women we worked with was Jodi (not her real name.) You could still tell she used to be a very attractive woman, but drugs and hard living had left her haggard. She had a young daughter, probably 8 or 9, when we met. Her name was Summer.

Being the child of an impoverished drug addict prostitute is not an easy life. You move often–one step ahead of the Sheriff and eviction. Your mother is constantly with a man, high or both. You fend for yourself from an early age.

Summer had all of her mother’s pre-drug beauty. She was also wicked smart. While you could see the physical resemblance, she otherwise had no trace of her mother’s recklessness. Even at such a young age she was responsible, dependable. She worked hard to look normal.

When Jodi started going to the church, so did Summer. Summer was active in everything she could be. Different adults would make sure every time we had services or a young person’s event, she could be there. Like most of the extremely poor, Jodi had sold her car years ago.

Summer was a part of the church for several years as we tried to help her mother get off the drugs and out of the life. She became friends with my boys–she was between them in age–as well as the other kids at the church. She was in our home often. Lots of hugs.

At some point–probably when Summer was 12 or 13 and was beginning to blossom into a beautiful young lady–Jodi was sent to a court ordered drug rehab. Summer went to foster care and we lost track of her.

A week or so ago I was walking by the jewelry counter at Wal-Mart and I heard someone call my name. It was an attractive young lady behind the counter. I didn’t recognize her until she told me her name: “It’s me, Summer.”

I asked her about how she was doing–she’s now a college student–and a little about her life over the last several years. Of course I didn’t ask about her mother.

Summer is doing great. Summer is building a great life. But the thing that almost brought tears to my eyes was when she said, “I don’t know what I would have done without you and Kendra when I was a kid.”

So maybe, just maybe, some of the things we did had impact we don’t know about.

It made me think a lot about what I really enjoy doing and not doing. I can make plenty of money, but money doesn’t motivate me. I wonder about doing something that is more helpful to struggling people without being in “ministry.”

Well, I’ve been rambling on about this for 30 minutes. If you have any input or comments I would be glad to hear them.