Confessions of a Nobody #4 – Walking in the Hornet’s Nest

 There they were, holding signs that had a picture of a young man on a poster board, with words that read “CAR WASH for FUNERAL EXPENSES.” I drove past them, on my way to the thrift store to get some things for my daughter. In the car with me, were two young people who came to live with us, after some months of homelessness and drug issues.

“I think that car wash is for him, Mama T,” the young man in the back seat of my car said quietly. He was sitting next to his girlfriend and his eyes were fixed on the people on the street.

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked

“No, you can keep going,” he said.

His curly hair was getting long and his eyes began to water. The loss of yet another friend was a lot. Since he had come to live with us, he discovered that one of his brothers got locked up and the other one was on house arrest. Both under the age of 18. His girlfriend held his hand and did not say a word.

We arrived at the thrift store and got out. The couple lingered outside to smoke and my daughter and I went in to find some things for her Sadie’s Hawkins dance. When we were done, he asked me if he could go back to the car wash to see if anyone could give him and his girlfriend a ride to the candlelight vigil. So I drove back to the corner where everyone was.

When we parked the car, the group assumed that I was another customer, there to support the funeral, with a car wash. My car needed one, but I was not there for that purpose. The young man and I got out of the car, and my daughter and his girlfriend stayed inside.

There were close to 50 people there; all helping, grieving, remembering. As I walked closer to the group, all eyes watched me. The smell of marijuana was thick and the tattoos on their bodies, indicated they were from the Bulldog gang. Against the wall, one man, close to my age, tensed up to see what I was doing there. He glared with a fierce intensity as I walked up to the young man’s cousin. She had a joint in her hand and put it behind her back, so that I would not see it. She looked at me, confused, and then at the young man. The young man hugged her and she responded with, “This sucks man.”

He introduced me and I gave her a hug. Her stiff body would indicate that she did not expect my embrace; but I continued to engulf her in my Mama T way, until she relaxed. He introduced me to all the people who came around him. One by one, I hugged them and shared my condolences. Joints were being passed around and sadness hung in the air. My heart was broken for them, for the loss of a life so young.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around to see a young man that looked familiar.

“Remember me?” he asked.

“You look familiar,” I said, “but I can’t place where I know you from.”

“I met you at the Hall. You were talking to me and my mom and dad. Your husband was breaking it down to my dad, remember?” he inquired.

“Oh yes, I do remember.” I said with a hug. He too knew the young man who had just passed away. One by one young people started to come around me, curious as to who I was. I clearly did not belong there, hugging and talking to this community of people. Yet, there I was: talking, embracing and encouraging them in their loss. Many of them knew Will, one of our Bible Study boys who was killed just two weeks earlier, so their sorrow was heavy. As the smoke and conversations rose in the air, the man who was standing by the wall began to soften. No longer did he stare me down with a fierceness. His posture changed, he leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed and began to talk to the people around him, eyes off me. I was told that he was the father of the young man, who had just passed. So his intense, silent inquiry was understandable to me.

There I was, me, a 41 year old, urban missionary, standing in the middle of Bulldogs from McKenzie Street. Loving them, hugging them, and being accepted by them. I looked at their faces: broken, sad, lost and angry; and had compassion for them. I had just walked into a hornets nest and was not stung. They were swarming around me, checking to see if I was a threat, to see if I had fear, to discover what my motive was. The love that was exuding out of me, from Jesus, was so powerful, that it was like smoke to a bee hive. It calmed them, and took away the threat. I did not look like them, I did not belong, but they saw Jesus in me, and although they may not be able to articulate what was happening, they were experiencing the love of Jesus.

 So many times, we, as Christians look at a situation with judgement and condemnation and miss an opportunity to be the hands and feet of Jesus. So many times, we are stricken with fear and cannot even get out of the building called “church” to bring Jesus to the dark places. So many times, we believe the lie that people who want Jesus, will just show up to church, because, you know, it is church. We live in a post-Christian nation. People are not going to show up to a building to find hope. So many people don’t even know who Jesus is. A lot of people see Christianity as an elitist, judgmental, controlling organization that has no room for sinners or the broken or the lost.

The young man, who lives with my family, continued talking to his cousin and then asked me if I could take him to his Grammie’s house, which was a few blocks away from the candlelight vigil. He wanted to pick up the letter his brother had sent him from the Hall. I drove into Bulldog territory, filled with joy that I was shining a light in a dark place. I gave him a sympathy card for his friend’s mom. He looked at it with bewilderment, as this gesture was a middle class occurrence that he was unaccustomed to.

“If you don’t want to give her the card, you don’t have to. But it’s what we do when someone we know dies.” I said.

“Oh, okay,” he understood. “No, I like it, I think she will too.”

He got out of the car, with his girlfriend and walked up to the door of his Grammie’s house. My daughter and I drove away. She looked at me and smiled. She too felt the joy of just being the light. Not preaching, not condemning, not expecting… Just loving, just giving, just being the hands and feet of Jesus.

If only more people with the light inside of them, walked in the dark; to give hope, to show love, to be present. They are looked at as the scum of the earth, a gang, this gang. But they are human beings with souls and hearts, who need Jesus. Open your heart to those you look down on. Give your hand to those, who you think are beneath you. Share the love of Jesus to those who do not know him.

You will find that LOVE is the most powerful weapon on earth. The LOVE of Jesus, shown to a broken world, is the ONLY thing that will change people, change our city, our state, our nation, our world. No amount of programs, laws, events, organizations will do that. You may think you are a NOBODY, that has nothing to offer this broken world… but if you know Jesus, if you have experienced his love in your own life… you are a somebody- who has the most powerful weapon on earth- AGAPE LOVE.

GO… go and change the world… by showing God’s love… start with one person, today. You will be amazed at how powerful your act of love is. It starts with one, then another, then another.

Matthew 11:19

Confessions of a Nobody #3 - Legacy of the ones taken too soon

His name is Marquis Sutton. I never met him. I never knew anything about him.

The sun was setting and the glow was dancing orange hues over the worn down stadium in Easton, Ca where my son was practicing football. I had come early to watch him practice with the new coach, and see how the team was doing.

To the left of me on the stadium stairs were a few of Elijah’s teammates sitting together, huddled close and talking quietly. One of the players put his hands in his face and another put his arm around him. I could sense the tension in the air, the sorrow, and continued to observe their actions. I scanned the field to see if I could make out the reason behind the sorrow, but could not pick up what was going on.

We had just started to settle into Easton. I was just started to get to know the players and the community. I knew these boys names, but don’t even think I had a conversation with them. I felt compelled to talk to them, as my mothering heart could not take the pain of these young people any longer.

“Is everything ok?” I asked intrusively.

The young man with his hands in his face, didn’t even look up at me. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” he said, “I just can’t believe it.” The other boys pulled in closer to the young man, as he began to cry.

“What happened?” I asked the friends standing near him, in the most compassionate tone I could acquire.

“Bruh, our boy was shot. They was playing Russian roulette or something. Like What The F@#k. Who does that?” There was a somber silence, then he continued, “That boy was gonna ball in the pros, man.” He shook his head in disappointment and then stopped talking.

“Is he from Washington Union?” I asked.

“Nah bruh, he from Edison.”

I did not know what to do. I had only heard of shootings on the news. The victims were just faces and names of an unfortunate situation, but had no bearing on my life. I had never been in a place where a shooting hit so close to home. I didn’t really know how to comfort them or what to say. I asked if I could pray for them, and they said yes. My prayer seemed feeble and ignorant, not able to grasp the pain they were overcome with.

I walked away and sat back down on the bleachers to wait for practice to end. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. It covered me like a shadow. I could not escape the reality. These boys, these young men knew this boy from Edison. They were friends, grew up together, had relationship with him. He was not just some name and face on the news. He was a part of their life.

Having homeschooled my children, and participating in home church, we kept our children close to home. Most of our friends homeschooled and home churched too. So this new life, of being in community with people who did not share my way of life, was perplexing.

When practice was over, we drove home and I asked Elijah if he had heard about the incident. He said that some of the players were crying and couldn’t practice, but didn’t really know what happened. When I got home, I searched the internet for a young football player who was shot from Edison, to see if I could get more information. I saw a news report and read it. My heart ached. It pained deep. The LORD was giving me a burden to pray for the families and friends of this young man. I had never experienced this kind of intercession before, to pray for people I did not know personally, but the calling was deep and personal. I prayed for hours and days for this family. My heart grieved for a young man, I never even met, for his family, whose names I did not know. This grief felt personal and real and my heart ached with a deep intensity.

I looked him up on facebook to see if I could get some more information. I saw pictures and read stories about this young man, wondering what he was like. I was blessed by the words that people were writing, a living memorial, solidifying his legacy in words and blessings. I was overcome with emotion and there I was, writing on his wall too… I dont know what I said, but I remember promising you that I would do my best to reach young people, so that more lives would not be lost.

Marquis, I have fulfilled that proclamation. Actually, both my husband and I have. After that, my husband started a Bible Study for young men, to find a safe place to go, to laugh, cry, eat, play and get to know Jesus, that only one who can deliver us from the pain of the world. It grew and grew, the Bible Study, and the ministry. We started a Friday night Open Gym, to give young people a positive, safe place to go and hang out. The Bible Study now includes young woman as well.

I wish we could do more.

I often speak about you, and how your death was the inspiration for what we do today. It changed our lives and the lives of so many young men. Your light was not snuffed out when you died, it grew brighter. It is in every young man we minister to, help, encourage and inspire.

This past Friday, two young people I knew personally were shot and killed, Kayla DeBorde and William Harris. I knew them, had relationship with them, loved them, laughed with them, mentored them, did life with them. They were taken from this earth for no good reason. I have been in such pain, personally and also for the families that are let behind. My heart aches in the deep reaches of my soul.

At the Candlelight prayer vigil, you came to mind again. You inspired the words that came out of my mouth. You were remembered at their prayer vigil too, as I encouraged and challenged others to not snuff out the light that was in these two beautiful people, but to carry it on, let it grow brighter, go farther and last longer in the legacy of our lives and those after us. That is what we did for you, Marquis, me and my husband. We carried your legacy with us, even to the young people and families that were grieving William and Kayla.

I think back to the young boys who were grieving you that day that found out you were gone. Now, I know that pain. I feel it today, as I write this. My heart feels broken from the senseless violence that stole the legacy these young people were supposed to live out. Yet, in this pain and sorrow. I will continue to let their light shine in me as well. I will shine their lights too, for all the people I encounter. I will remember them, as I remembered you.

 I never met you, Marquis, but you left an everlasting impact on my soul.  You, William and Kayla will continue to live on in the ministry we do, in the lives we encounter, in the stories we tell.

I look forward to meeting you in heaven and seeing my sweet friends William and Kayla too. 

Marquis Sutton

Kayla DeBorde

William Harris