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