On Friday night, Pam and I stopped in at the Friday night youth center our church runs. It’s open 7-10 pm every Friday night. We meet in a house next door to the church (which the church owns). There’s a pool table and other games in the basement, a room upstairs with TV/videogame equipment, a front room with bar chairs and tables, a kitchen, and a large room in the back of the house. Teens and post-high schoolers drop in, and adults spend time with them. Pam and I volunteered with this ministry for about four years, but during the past year we transitioned out to focus on other ministries. But on Friday night we drove over to the Third Street Cafe (which is what we call this ministry) just to check in and see what was happening.

We spent the whole time in that front room, talking with adults and some high school age kids. There was open talk about birth control methods and other things I don’t remember my youth group ever discussing. It was good being reminded of the dysfunctional situations these kids come from. In particular, we talked with a guy and girl who are living together, she’s pregnant, he recently got out of jail (for the second time), and they’re thinking of getting married sometime this year. They come to church regularly. They were there today and stayed for the potluck after church. I think that’s great.

The guy had just landed a job. He told us about it Friday night, and we celebrated that with him. It’s tough for guys who have been in jail to land decent jobs. He was telling people today at church about it. We have another fellow who was in jail for a while, and I remember how happy he was when he finally found a job.And now he’s gonna be a dad, and he seems so terribly young, so terribly unready. Both of them do. How do we help them? They need good examples, and they have them in the adults at the youth center. But that’s only for a few hours. You can’t replace the value of growing up in a home where you can watch a mom and dad interact year after year in healthy ways. I treat Pam like I saw Dad treat my Mom. But for this couple, who come from dysfunctional situations (she never knew her biological father, and both her mom and step-dad died within a few months of each other a few years ago, at which point she went to live with an aunt), they both start from such a terribly deep
hole.

It’ s just overwhelming, sometimes, when you see the depth of needs in people’s lives. Particularly in a neighborhood like ours, though you can find these situations in smalltowns just as easily. Anyway, they have little or no family support system, low-paying jobs, a baby on the way, little knowledge of how to relate to each other in healthy ways, a shallow value system. But they have us, and a loving church. That needs to go a long way. They’ve been on my mind a lot during the last few days. That makes me happy. I can be callous. I guess in this situation, I truly care.

A group called the Literacy Alliance meets in the basement of our church on Thursday nights, during the time that the music team is upstairs in the sanctuary practicing. The Literary Alliance teaches people of all ages to read and write.

Tonight I noticed a light on in an upstairs classroom. I peeked through the cracked door and saw two people sitting at a table, their backs to me. One was an adult woman, and to her left was a young man with black hair. Was he Hispanic, perhaps, and wanting to learn English? Or just a young man–junior high, high school, post-school–who never learned to read? I couldn’t see their faces. But they were both looking down at a book on the table, and the woman was leading the young man through something in a voice too low for me to hear.

I thought of some of the junior high school boys from our neighborhood who come to the Wednesday night children’s ministries and wreak havoc. Just do everything they can to disrupt the teaching. They come voluntarily, but they don’t really have any interest in the reason we do Wednesday night.

Then here was this young guy, coming probably by himself on Thursday night, coming without any requirement that he be there. Coming because he wants to learn. And he’s listening intently to his tutor, following her words, taking it all in.

My, wouldn’t it be nice it all of the youngsters we attract held that attitude toward spiritual things. I’m certain that some of our regular Sunday morning adults don’t necessarily come because they’re truly interested in learning about the Bible and spiritual growth. There are other motivations, like just making the wife happy, or out of some long-established habit they just can’t break.

Anyway, I’m glad the Literacy Alliance uses our church, and that they want to be located in our neighborhood. Just seeing those two faceless persons, their backs to me, huddled in purposefulness, made me feel real good.

As we pulled into our usual parking place–beside a telephone pole on a side street down from the church–Pam remarked that it was just a year ago that Joanna Herrick was mugged in the church parking lot. When I mentioned it to Joanna, she said, “It was a year ago tomorrow. I don’t normally remember dates, but I remember that one.”

I wrote about the experience a year ago, how Joanna came to church an hour early and, while still in the church parking lot, was approached and mugged by two guys. They stole her purse, which was the small thing. The big thing is that she fell to the ice-covered lot and broke her right leg. A very nasty break.

“I consider myself a miracle,” Joanna told me today. “Doctors said it would take me a year to recover, but look at me.” Indeed. On Labor Day Sunday, when we hold services at a campground for a baptismal service, Joanna was walking around fine, though a couple ladies would assist her. Joanna was back to driving her car in the fall, coming to my Sunday night home Bible study. During our Halloween event at the church, she dressed as a clown and did face-painting.

Joanna is somewhere in her 70s, the latter part, I think. But she sure doesn’t act it. She jokes easily about the mugging. Nothing’s gonna make her afraid or cautious. The leg still hurts sometimes, but she doesn’t complain. The muggers were never caught, the purse never recovered. But I suspect that if she met the two fellows, she would go up and hug them. And then tell them they needed to get right with the Lord. And she wouldn’t be able to resist kidding the bigger guy about how, when she fell to the ice, she took him down with her.

We’re truly blessed to have somebody like Joanna at Anchor Community Church.