His Hand on My Head-
A story from Shawn…
It started with a simple question. I was sitting outside our building, there for a Community Meal. I like to work the street, invite people in, chat a bit. On colder nights, like tonight, we put a propane heater out front, a few chairs around it, giving a welcoming, campfire vibe.
His name is Jimmy and I have known him for years, prowling Colfax. He never engages deeply. Fifty-ish, he lives with Mom, struggles with mental health and addiction, lives the Colfax life. Having a roof over his head means he is in better shape than many. But, bedraggled and struggling.
Tonight, he comes out of the building, a plate of food in hand. Much to my surprise, rather than heading out into the night, he sits down in the chair beside me, to eat and talk a bit. Cozy!
I ask a simple question. “How are you doing?”
Without preamble, he says, “I’m really thankful.” That by itself was striking. He would seem to have little to be thankful for. Yet, that was what came out of his mouth. “I’m thankful.” He went on: “I’m really thankful for my mom and that I can live with her. And I’m thankful for my daughters.” A little later he showed me pictures, talking proudly like any dad, though he seemed to have little contact with his kids, an ever-present reality here. He also had sons, but seemed less thankful for them. :)
What he said next was even more striking. He gestured sky-ward and said, “And I’m thankful for Him.” It took me a minute to understand that he was talking about God. He clarified. “I always feel His hand on my head. I have a lot of hard times and I do a lot of things that are wrong and sinful. But He is always there. I always feel His hand on my head.”
“His hand on my head.” Powerful words. I have chewed on them for months. One of the surprising, and profound, lessons of eight years on Colfax is this: I see amazingly deep faith in some of our friends, a faith that at times makes me feel like a spiritual midget. Their lives are rattier and more broken than mine. Yet their connection with Jesus is real, deep, and inspiring, in spite of the pain and chaos of their world. The faith of the broken. “His hand on my head.”
Our friends—the other 1%—are broken people who live in a system that sometimes tries to help them and at other times seems designed to further cripple them. Much of the time, their internal brokenness frustrates even the best the system offers.
Yet here, chaos in their own lives and limited help around them, I see oft-surprising and deep faith in Jesus. Even in a life not ordered by the values of Jesus, lives riddled with sin and bad choices, they cling to the bright rope of Jesus’ presence. For them to get healthier, let alone healthy, means conquering the enemies of trauma, mental illness, tragic upbringings, generational dysfunction—the list seems endless. Battered by these enemies, they slide into addiction, chaos and disorder. Even knowing Jesus, change for them is harder than I could ever describe—slow, painful and halting. Jesus brings change, yes, but not quickly. Yet, beat up on the battlefield, they look to Jesus. “His hand on my head.”
Still talking to Jimmy, I see Sally come out of the building. I saw her earlier inside, huddled in a chair in the corner, charging her phone, uninterested in talking. She is in the sex trade, likely an addict, on and off the street. I jump up, give her a hug and a word of encouragement. I ask if she is going to be ok, and, she, like Jimmy, points to the sky and simply says, “Jesus will take care of me.”
I think about that. Off to look for clients who will pay her enough for a room, perhaps some drugs. A grim, dark pathway at 8 pm on a cold night. Yet for her, living out choices that are dysfunctional, not to mention immoral, her own hard story behind that, she too grips the bright rope of Jesus’ presence. Just now, her life less functional and God-honoring than mine, her faith in Jesus seems stronger than mine. Other words, same concept: “His hand on my head.” Again, I feel like a spiritual midget.
That faith, seen with regularity among our friends, is inspiring. Yet it leaves me with many questions. Why is change so hard? Why such a gap between faith in Jesus and a life ordered by Jesus? Why doesn’t Jesus zap more people and make them better, quickly?
Two thoughts on that: First off, the damage our friends have experienced is so great that I find it hard to explain. To the damage they have experienced they add their own bad choices and their life becomes a muddled mess of pain and dysfunction. Hard to get through that. Second, it also points to this theological truth: The way of Jesus among the poor seems to be the small way—small, slow steps on a long road to a more functional and Jesus-honoring life. To live and love well among our friends means to accept those truths. To love them where they are and walk the long hard road ahead with them. A hard but good call from Jesus.
And, along the way, we receive the gifts our friends have to give us. Jimmy and Sally, this night, are my teachers, encouraging me to remember that His hand is also on my head, that Jesus will in fact take care of me. This spiritual midget—me—is helped by them even as both, after prayer, head into a night that is dark in a hundred ways.
*Names and details changed.