One

We’ll call him Mason. He had stumbled over to the Care Fair out of curiosity and found people who would give him dignity. It was obvious he was surprised, almost stunned. He had not gotten the reception that he expected. Usually, people shied away from him especially people that were a different color. Honestly, everyone stayed away from Mason. Years of drug abuse and entertaining other demons had almost robbed him of his humanity.

My vantage point gave me the opportunity to watch the street traffic as well as the people coming and going during the Care Fair. It was interesting to me that *Mason had parked his bike across the street. The rule of the street is: If you want to keep it, keep it close. Mason had parked his bike and walked across to the Care Fair. He was undoubtedly a person of the street, he knew the rule—why wasn’t he following it? Mason fumbled with the buttons on his shirt like a youthful executive during his primary review. As if on cue, his steps shortened and his jaw tightened as he walked past the volunteer with the Care Fair information. Everything about him gave reason for concern. The prayer that slipped from my heart to the throne room of Heaven made more sense to me than trying to out step our latest Care Fair attendee. This disheveled man with the empty eyes and a severe scowl may have evil intent but he was not in charge. The God of the universe, the creator of Heaven and Earth is always listening; it is comforting to know that the control is His.

Care Fairs are a kaleidoscopic statement to the community that we are anxious to meet them, introduce them to the ONE who changed our lives totally and eventually serve their community alongside them. At Care Fairs there are games, food and give-a-ways in a festival atmosphere. During the look for a would-be disturbance, the not so proud owner of a skinned knee pulled at my shirt. After solving the crisis by applying some major first aid equipment, a band-aid, it was time to locate our troubled guest. By this time, there was a steady stream of people. They were meeting volunteers, reaching for the hands of their children and anticipating a fun Saturday morning that would not disturb their wallets.

Finding Mason would not be simple but with each person that joined us, finding this angry young man became more necessary. Much planning and hard work goes into the execution of a Care Fair. One of those strategic steps is prayer for provision and protection. The rapid wandering from point to point looking for the misplaced young man combined with meeting and greeting brought a renewed gratitude for that vital prayer covering. Everything was fine. The God of Heaven was certainly on the morning shift (Psalm 121) and my fretting was an exercise in futility. It seemed that Mason melted into the activity, he was nowhere to be found.

My apprehension over the tight jawed attendee was soon replaced with giving directions to the sno-cone stand and the clothing closet. This was the perfect day: beautiful weather, anxious volunteers, uplifting music, various activities and curious people. This was the combination we had prayed for and seeing it unfold was terrific. The familiar voice accompanied with a tap on the shoulder brought a surprise. Turning around abruptly placed my nose just a couple of feet away from the rumpled, soiled shirt that had been the object of my intense search. Simultaneously trying to extend my hand, produce a sincere greeting and camouflage the shock on my face took a little juggling.

Flanked by volunteers that could not have been more his opposite Mason reached his leathered, ashen, unkempt hand to mine. What happened next brought a heavy mixture of shame and joy. As the volunteers explained bits of the story he had shared with them, Mason ducked his head. It seems that he had almost passed the Care Fair, afraid that he would not be welcomed. There would be time to hear the details but for now, he wanted out of the hell that plagued him. Mason (said) he wanted a new life. His eyes that had seemed almost reptilian, an hour before, were brimming with tears. While nervously, pulling up his sleeve to show ravenous scarring from repeated self-mutilating episodes with a sharp blade, Mason kept begging, “I need help, Mam—I really need help.”

We would take him to a safe place for the night. He would get a hot shower, a good meal and a much-needed night’s sleep. We would begin making phone calls and Mason could be in an appropriate treatment facility within six weeks. If a person clears the waiting time, they have a good chance of successfully completing a program. Waiting for a slot in treatment is one of the most difficult parts of rehabilitation. One volunteer stood with him while he gave us random information. The other went to get hamburgers for our hungry friend. An updated wild man of Gadera (Mark 5) was standing before us. The words “cutting himself and sitting among the tombs” was exactly how he had spent the last 10 years of his existence. The same Jesus who restored sanity to the demoniac could heal Mason’s deep inward pain evidenced by the outward scars.

According to Mason, he “stayed” a couple of blocks from the church. We were familiar with the house that he described and were not surprised that this was where he had landed. He would take the bike back; it did not belong to him. He would make a phone call to his grandmother; she would be so happy that he was going to get help. Mason would get some clothes together and be back in a few minutes. The volunteers that waited for Mason were very discouraged when, he did not return.

Since Mason’s explanation of his plans was all too familiar; my expectations were not as vulnerable. Our encounter with Mason was very successful. He did not leave the way that he came. Mason carried away intangibles that he will not escape. Mason will not be able to get “high” enough to erase the scripture that The Shepherd’s Staff volunteers shared with him. The streets of Montgomery seemed to have swallowed him up and he is once again hidden like he was at the Care Fair. However, the memory of our unexpected welcome and the kindness that he was shown will come to mind when he least expects it. A seed of hope was planted in hard soil that warm spring day. All the planning and preparation, all the hard work and tedious coordination, all the efforts of the volunteers and support of the church members may have been orchestrated in Heaven so that one hardened drug addicted “nobody” (society’s perspective) could come face to face with Truth. One is a huge number in Heaven.