What To Do

I sat in the stuffy chow hall that had lettuce covered floors from the hungry "clients" (that's what they call us) who have lost all concern for the cleanliness of the institution. I stared down the long table. I sit in the same spot every night, back against the wall, chair at the head of 4 tables lined with men who have scowls on their faces. Another night eating this food shipped into us, taken out of bags and heated up. The flavor isn't the reason for the scowls, it's the portions. These helpings wouldn't fill a church mouse.

There are 4 guys that eat with me each night. 4 ghetto gangsters who think guns and Tupac are better than textbooks and Jesus. They have as many tattoos as chips on their shoulders. I reach out to them every night. It often starts with a piece of cake. I want the cake no doubt but I learned fast in prison the key to striking conversation up is to give your food away. It's a small sacrifice compared to the joy I have of sitting with these men. Yeah their conversation is vulgar, they talk about the most insane of subjects and they objectify women constantly. But that's who they are - that's who I've met and where they are the moment I worked my way into their lives with just a piece of cake. Oh, and the other day it cost me a P.B. and Jelly. That was a struggle to come off of.

Yet the spiritual reward I get from sitting with these guys is more than any meal could ever satisfy. I get something so much more filling. Tonight I nearly broke through with the really angry one. He always stares me down in that mean prison stare. Tonight as neither of us made a move to look away he was the first to nod - Breakthrough!

I mostly sit at the end of this table and analyze the people I'm with for the very reason I want to change their lives. I want to give them some sense of hope that they don't get from this miserable halfway house we're all stuck in. There are no opportunities for anyone here and I think to myself, "What would I do if I owned this place?" What would you do?

Would you do it like they do and ignore these "hoodlums" because they might cuss too much or they might look really mean? What would I do if I could do anything?

I'd like to think I would be the first to give up my piece of cake in order to gain their trust. I'd like to think I would be the first to offer up my coat, a ride, my jacket, a pair of shoes, anything to better their lives. I'd like to think at the very least I'd remind them that there is a God who loves them more than they could possibly imagine. So much so that He died for them. Better yet - He conquered death for them by rising from the dead so that they may have life, "and have it abundantly!"

So, what to do? You answer that question next time you have the chance to give up a piece of cake