Holy, Holy, Holy

My turn is coming up to give the message at church. I don't think I need to tell you that I am terrified. Sunday morning, no less. Oh dear.

I think that since I haven't been able to get this passage out of my head or heart for the last year, I'm going to try to make some sort of a coherent message out of it:

In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord seated on a throne, high and exalted, and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him were seraphs, each with six wings: With two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they were flying. And they were calling to one another:

"Holy, holy, holy is the LORD Almighty;
the whole earth is full of his glory."

At the sound of their voices the doorposts and thresholds shook and the temple was filled with smoke.

"Woe to me!" I cried. "I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the LORD Almighty."

I thought I'd have a hard time coming up with something to say, but the more I read and study and pray, the more I think my bigger problem is going to be to whittle down what's in my head so that people can still get home in time to tuck their kids in that night.

The Foundry

We started The Foundry in December of 2005. After a lot of painting and dismantling and repairing and decorating and gathering and planning, we finally opened our doors.

And then we stood around. Looking at each other. For over 4 years.

Sure, we had pockets of action. Small pockets. Mild action. I will be honest - I wanted to give up. I was bored and wanted my Friday nights back. Still, we hung in there. We kept reminding each other that it took an age to get it going when we did this same thing in Vancouver.

Let me back up a bit and explain what we do for those of you coming in mid-story. We started and run a sort of drop-in center for people. When I'm explaining this to people who don't know the Lord, I tell them that we are offering an alternative to the people on the streets who would otherwise be up to no good. And this is true. But the full story is that we want to give them a place to go so that we can get to know them so that we can tell them about Jesus. And the people we want are the people who nobody else wants. If you see someone walking towards you, sharing your sidewalk, and you feel compelled to cross the street out of fear or disgust - that's someone I want to see on Friday night. 8:30pm at 920 Link Lane.

So back to the present. A few months ago, we started getting these guys coming in. They were clear ne'er-do-wells. Which is a funny word. Troy told me to hang back for a bit and not go all Jeney on them just yet. I don't understand all the subtle nuances of how to befriend a gang member so I minded him.

I'll cut to the end of the story. We have a good crowd full of our people coming every week. It started out with one of the guys asking Troy a few questions each week. Over the next month or so, we learned that they knew a lot about us. Which was strange, yet somehow flattering. Once this guy got to know us a little, he gave what can only be describe as a green light to the other guys to get to know us. We learned that they were a little scared of Troy because he was big, covered in tattoos, white and quiet. They thought he was a bad guy. Probably a white supremacist or a biker I'm thinking, since we live in the middle of a Mexican gang territory.

Some of the guys we've gotten to know the best have come to church and to our church's functions. One of my favorite guys works down at the McDonald's and one time when Troy went through the drive-thru, Edgar gave him a free McFlurry that had more mini M&M's in it than it had ... Flurry. Troy gave me the McFlurry. But he was my favorite before I got the free treat, so my preference is untainted.

So I'm happy to say that after all those years - all those years of standing around and wondering if we'd really heard God right and worrying that maybe we did this whole thing on our own and for no good or redeeming reason - after all those years, we're finally seeing the payoff. And the payoff is AWESOME.

I was just looking through my personal blog to find out what the actual start-up date for The Foundry was and I found this scripture:

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Galatians 6:9

I also found a place where I talked about the scripture that tells us not to despise small beginnings. I was thinking as I read that again that the small beginnings were over and now we've moved on to the Big Time. But really, this is still a small beginning, because I know God has more ahead for us and for the crew showing up at our tiny church each Friday.

Hello, world.

Disclaimer:

This blog exists solely to keep our interested friends and family (even those who are merely feigning interest) updated about some of the things we are up to. It also serves my laziness, as this conversation can now take place:

Someone: What's new?
Me: You can read my blog.

Don't expect witty or fascinating things to happen here. Though I try to bring the funny when appropriate. Or inappropriate, as that is usually much more funny.

Also:

I totally forgot to update about Troy's last day in juvenile detention. In the internet world, it's like he is still in Fresno.

Right now...

...The Foundry is so amazing that I don't even know how to tell you about it.

Valley State Prison for Women

The morning started out much like the morning before. Got up way too early, got on a bus and drove to Chowchilla, CA. The only notable difference was that I brought my own jacket this time. It has pockets, which is handy when you have things to carry around, but are not allowed a purse.

I have too many details to share, so what that means is that I will not share many details.

Once we all got inside, half of us went into the main yard and the other half (the group I was in) went into Yard A. Just like the day before. Same routine, different prison. But actually, the prisons are identical to each other. We wouldn't have known we weren't still in the parking lot of the Chowchilla side if it hadn't been for the absent porta-potty. Which I cut my finger on. Gross me out.

This side has more security, but most of us still got through with no problems.

After the morning speakers/entertainment, we all had another chance to group up with inmates and talk to them about Jesus. The group I was with kept growing and growing and got really too huge for me to handle. But I did my best. I laid out all the hard stuff first, figuring that I'd lose all the people who weren't really serious and be left with those who were ready to make some hefty changes. About 2/3 of the group stayed and listened and asked questions. Most of them said that they were already Christians, but they didn't actually know what that meant. I was happy to share! At the end, I was able to pray for a whole bunch of them. Awesome.

Then I started talking to another girl. She was so sweet. Beautiful. She was raised right and just made a mistake. A few of them, probably. We talked about some personal things, and even though you won't ever meet her, I'm not going to share the personal things. I'm going to write to her - I've been thinking about her a lot. I need to remember to pray for her more. I hope she makes good choices when she is released in a few months. She reminds me of me with the choices she's made and the reasons she made them. Sort of hard to see.

I prayed for her and another girl. Then it was time for lunch. At this time, my head started pounding. It got to the point where I would have cried if it wouldn't have made my head hurt more. I could barely see and my stomach was so upset. Nauseated. I went out and sat on a bench and tried to get away from all these happy, chatty people. My friend Karen came out and saw me. Saw I was in pain and prayed for me. She gave me a scalp massage while praying. It started to get a little better. I felt like my skull must have opened a little and that the pressure was being let out, because my head didn't feel quite so much like it was going to explode anymore. Which was good, because I really think it may have exploded. After her prayer and...someone...sneaking us some pain relievers (I'm thinking it was Tylenol. Though I didn't check and didn't care), I got better just before the next half of the inmates came out.

Which was good, since this was my favorite part of the whole weekend.

I was watching the crowd while the platform guests were doing their thing. How it works is that there is this giant crowd of people sitting in the audience section, then a bunch of stragglers scattered around the yard. They are either not paying attention, or paying attention and laughing at what they hear. I was watching to see if I could get a feel for who I should go talk to afterwards.

I saw these three girls - the were in the former category of listening yet laughing at what they heard. I just knew these were My Girls.

That walk from where I was to where they were was a long one. They see me coming, I see them saying something to each other that I assumed was something along the lines of, "Let's get out of here before she comes and talks to us". Turns out, I was right about that.

Anyway, they didn't get out of there and then we ended up talking for the entire time allotted to us. I asked them if they thought the whole thing was crap and they said they weren't listening to the shows. I said I was talking about Jesus and that story and they said they thought that God was probably real, but that they didn't know about Jesus and had questions about why God would let so many bad things happen to people.

I can't write out the entire dialog, and the parts that were so special to me probably would seem silly to anyone else, so I'm just going to be vague and say that talking to these girls was a highlight of my weekend. I've written to one of them already, and I will probably write to the other two, as well. The more I talked to them, the more I saw that - even though they were grown women - they really were just little girls who had no idea how they got to where they were. After they stopped trying to be "bad", and then stopped trying to act like they just stepped back out through the pearly gates - they were just themselves and it turns out that they are pretty amazing young women.

I'm glad I made the horrifying trek to an unwelcoming group of girls. I felt like the guy at a club walking across the floor to ask a girl to dance - knowing she may turn him down and make him take the walk of shame back to his buddies.

Eventually, we got out of the prison. It took a while, because someone lost their driver license somewhere in the prison. That's really bad. Luckily, it was found before the entire inmate population got strip-searched - which would keep us there until 10pm and probably out of the prison next year.

Juvenile Jusice

They were only in Corcoran for half of one day. The other half was spent at Fresno County Juvenile Justice.

A few men were picked to go into the SHU (Secured Housing Unit). Basically, if a kid gets busted for violent behavior while already locked up, they get sent to the SHU.

The doors that separate the inmates from the rest of the facility are solid. There is a pass-through for their food trays and a window. You can't simultaneously hear and see the kids. You have to choose. So Troy got down on all fours - so did the kids he talked to - and they talked for 2 hours through the food slot.

At first, the kid (they really are just kids) was a little hostile. He was hassling the guards and hassling other Bill Glass counselors. The kid asked Troy about his tattoos and after a while Troy was able to tell him about the life he came out of.

He told the kid that he had been a streetfighter, and that he was tough and hated everyone. He told him that he never joined a gang, because he had the same question for them all (and for religion): Why are you right over everyone else?

This kid belongs to a Fresno gang called the Bulldogs. They're very violent, and they split off from the Norteno gang. They had that same non-joining attitude Troy had. Troy told the guy that if he had joined anyone, it would have been the Bulldogs, just because of their reputation for violence and their independent attitude.

As Troy talked, the guy started to tear up. He said Troy was the first guy he'd ever met who understood what he was going through. Troy started to show him just how much he understood. He said, "I know you're tired of fighting, but don't know how to stop. You don't even know how you got into it or how you ended up where you are now. I know you're scared. You're frustrated. You're scared of being in lockup, but you're scared of getting out. You don't know how you're going to function in the real world." As he talked, the guy broke down more and more.

The guy says through tears that he wants out. Troy says - but you can't because your friends will think you're a wimp. Look, I know you feel like nobody can help you with this. I got out of that life when I was much older than you are now and nobody could help me either. Until someone told me about Jesus and he changed my life. He can change your life, too.

The two hours ended in the best possible way: The kid accepts Jesus.

Again, I'm left without a way to convey how awesome this is. So I just simply state it. He accepted Jesus - and all that goes along with that commitment.

Troy says goodbye and leaves for a few minutes. When he comes back, the kid in the room next to him won't let anyone open his food door. He won't talk to anyone. The kid that Troy was just talking to says to Troy, "You should talk to the guy next door". Troy says, "The angry guy?" They guys said - yeah, he's my buddy. I told him to talk to you. He'll only talk to you. The guy speaks to his neighbor through their shared vent and tells him that the guy he should talk to is outside his door.

He opens his door.

This time, since Troy already has credibility through the first inmate, he only has to spend 20 minutes talking to him before the kid is crying and ready to turn his life over to Jesus. This kid is also a Bulldog. 17 years old, father of two. Wants to be a better dad.

Fast-forward to the third cell: Fifteen minutes into it, the kid - another Bulldog - is crying and praying to the only God who can save him. This time, Troy was able to tell him the names of his two buddies that already gave their lives away. So the kid was ready to listen right away.

Amazing. Truly amazing. God is so faithful and so good.

All this is sort of a mixed bag, though. These kids - when they get out, what happens to them? At least one of them is in a family where the whole crew is in the gang. He's a teenager. It's not like he can move away from everyone and start fresh. He has to go back home and try to make this new life work in the middle of the old.

I know we just have to put them in God's hands. It's hard. But I know they're safe with Him. I just wish I could bring them home with me and feed them breakfast and give them chores and drive them to school and puzzle over their homework with them and care for them until they are married to a nice girl and caring for their own sweet families.

Tomorrow I'll write about my day at Valley State Prison for Women. And the day after that is the best day of all the days that Troy had.

Oh man, it was a good one.

Chowchilla: A place to find a friend

Friday started at 4am. I was really afraid of not being ready in time, so I got up extra early. This was especially hideous when considering the pitiful amount of sleep I got. Troy - sometimes he snores. It was a combination of the snoring and my anger at the snoring that kept me awake until 1am. But I decided to let him live, because he's so fine.

We skip breakfast and head down to the lobby at around 5:40. There were a lot of ladies who were very concerned with the fact that I had on short-sleeves and no jacket. In fact, there were so many concerned citizens that I started to get concerned as well. One of the ladies - a stranger to me at the time, learned to love her by noon - left and came back with a jacket that she'd borrowed from someone whom I can only assume (judging by the looks of the jacket) was an elderly gentleman. I took it, though I didn't want to. I felt weird borrowing something from a stranger, but it became clear that this wasn't really being offered as a choice. A whole crowd of people would feel better if only I'd bring along something with which to cover my chilly arms. I could catch a cold!

A bus takes us to Chowchilla to visit the first prison of the weekend. It's nice to not have to drive. I sat in the back with a woman I had seen back at home at the Hope For The Homeless events. It was really fun to get to know her better, and to meet and get to know the woman across the aisle from me, as well.

Side note: One of my favorite parts of these weekends is the absolute camaraderie (Had to look up that word. Never would have guessed) you have with this massive group of people. I mean, I'm friendly. I smile and say, "Good morning". But at no other time do I walk by a complete stranger and smile a big smile and say, "How did it go for you today!" and then hang out and swap stories of God's faithfulness. Sometimes, I'd find myself aware that I was talking loudly about Jesus and then I would think - Oh, it's totally fine! Everyone here loves him. Coming back home, it's hard to squash the inclination. For example, on the drive home we stopped at a Taco Bell to use the restroom (Find them while you can when you're driving down I5) and Troy said he almost smiled and greeted a couple teenaged girls as they walked outside. Hello, creepyman. I'm glad he caught himself before their boyfriends did.

Anyway, we get to Chowchilla, endure the arduous check-in process. Enter the yard (We weren't allowed in their housing units this weekend) and observe a crowd of orange shirts and Harley's. Bill Glass allows Christian motorcycle groups to bring in their bikes at approved facilities.

I met a few women. Made the rounds. Sat in the grass and talked a little.

The show began. The morning group got to watch Tino Wallenda of The Flying Wallenda's. Let me tell you, I was all but yelling, "Don't do it!" when he stood on a CHAIR balanced on a tightrope way up in the air. Amazing. And engaging. What a story he tells.

The next platform guest was Sandi Fatow. This is the best link I could find in 3 minutes. It won't do her justice. What a phenomenal story. Powerful delivery. I've never heard anything like it. She actually came with a disclaimer the night before!

The rest of the details - well, I'll sum it up for you. I got to sit in a crowd of women and they all listened to me break down the Gospel to them. Some listened casually. Some listened as if their life depended on it. It did. I had a boxed lunch at the break. I prayed with a few women. One of my friends who was there (another volunteer) asked me to pray for a woman whose ear was really hurting. She also wanted prayer for protection. Judging by the face tattoos and demeaner, I gathered that this was a woman who had been in some perilous situations in her time. So I prayed for her and as soon as I finished she looked to her right to grab this paper and something in her neck/ear popped and the pain was instantly gone. When she told us this, she was shocked. I told her that this is just what God does! He hears us and he heals us. God is so faithful.

After lunch, we had the second wave of performers. First up was Julie Simpson. I got to talk to her a little the next day. What a woman she is. She is tiny, but so powerful, even just while sharing small details of her life. Next up was ... I can't remember her name. Rats. Anyway, a story unlike any other. She found Jesus as an inmate during a Bill Glass Weekend of Champions event, and now she speaks at them.

Here is something cool. A girl I know from home - someone I've grown to love so much - had been recently arrested and locked up. In Chowchilla. So I was scouring the crowd that day for a head full of wild blond hair. When I saw her and she saw me I ran to her and I think we hugged for at least a solid minute. Maybe two. She's amazing. She's in prison, but I'm the one who left encouraged by seeing her. When I signed up for the event, she wasn't incarcerated. If she had been, I would have had to mention that I had a friend in that prison and they may not have let me go in. But it worked out that I could go in without breaking any rules and see a dear friend. And meet new people who are becoming more dear to me the more I pray for them.

Unlike Troy, I don't have any powerful stories of unbelievable conversions (wait until I tell you about his next day!), but I walked away knowing that these women know everything they need to know to find Jesus. I didn't mince my words or leave out the hard parts. It wasn't all love and acceptance, it was also sin and repentance. I got to pray with women while they sobbed. I got to pass along a word from God and I got to let them know that Jesus knows where they are. That there has never been a yesterday when He hasn't seen them and there will never be a tomorrow when they will be hidden from His sight. Come to think of it, that counts for us on the other side of the wall, too.

Oh, and the second half of the day was rain, rain, rain. Lord help me, I put on that pullover (Oh, by the way, it was a pullover) that some generous stranger let me borrow. And thank you, Jesus, that spectacle in blue was waterproof. No hood, so my hair was AWESOME, but everything from my waist to my neck was nice and snuggly. Function wins over form every time!