Portland, Oregon

Portland, Oregon

I remember when Anna and I rented a convertible for my 30th birthday. We drove it all over San Diego. We drove all the way out to Coronado. I felt like my year in Portland, Oregon was one long drive in a convertible. The mountains, springs, and rivers that created a fortress around Portland, Oregon were symbolic of the fortress that God made around our marriage during that year in the West. Never would we know the hardship that come our way once back in the South. Never would we know that we would each be put to such a test. But in that "strong arm" that was Portland, we got to enjoy the beauty of living in a city unlike anything on the Eastern Seaboard.

I was a chaplain on a Pediatric ward of a hospital. My first day on the job I sat with a man, held his hand, and watched him die. We sang "Psalms and Spiritual songs" to one another. It was a blessed moment, and his wife was peaceful assured of his salvation. I will never forget it. The highlight was not the deaths. It was my guitar. I would wield my Takamine up on the Pediatric ward, and little boys and girls would crane their heads out of their room, each of them asking me to come play. One young girl caught fire to my singing. She was also dying. Her "anorexia" was killing her. She was only 89 pounds, 19 years old. We remain friends to this day, and I think that those times when I played guitar for her may have determined this lengthy bond. We were both Presbyterians at heart. I guess that helped. We both loved Jesus, and that was more helpful. The sound of the guitar was the glue of our bond. I have now lost touch with this young patient. But I remember how much she taught me. I even met her mother, because her mother was very involved in her recovery. But this young 19 year old taught me to have "faith" in the midst of chaos. She taught me to let go of "holding on." I remember when she would cry. She would doubt God. She would even curse God. But that was ok. God was big enough to hear her frustration. I probably visited her room 35 times, and each time was different. But it was unusual. Most of the people were in and out of the hospital. But she was there for at least 4 months.

And this was the year that I finally grew up. I grew up. I put my flag down. I am not sure what I even mean by this, but, part of me became "resolved" to take my life seriously. As I walked through that year, I was confronted with so many of my biases, my limitations, and my laziness. At the same time, I grew more confident in my own voice, and my own validity. I had lived my life propped up by my connection to Wake Forest University, my smart parents, and my loving cousins. I never truly got a glimpse of where "I" was in all that hubbub. I never had to really. I had a built in "cacoon" inside my family. Going West was symbolic of Abraham and his trip out of his homeland. Going West was vital to my manhood. If I had not gone West, I would continue to be enemic.

Going West has given me greater confidence in me. I have always had confidence in God. But I rarely had confidence that God could use "me." God will be with me, all my days. God will surround me, He will delight in me, and He has forever loved me in His son Jesus Christ. Dependence upon the decrees of the Lord trump any "feelings" I had about myself, and about my manhood. Its almost "crazy" to think of myself trusting a Trinity. But that is the way it is. Trust the Trinity. That has a ring to it. But its so "aloof." And so Jesus comes to me, and he actually comes to all people, and he makes a personal introduction. Jesus has complete compassion upon us, and dies for us on the cross. Jesus takes upon Him the shame. Jesus was on the cross, naked and beaten. Anything that I have experienced can be "understood" by Jesus, simply because his own life was a pattern of rejection and shame and dejection. Even his best friends left him. Even his heavenly father left the scene. Its amazing to think of this type of love. Its really not concievable. It is a revelation. And so now you can see that my writing has a way of getting off track. Its hard to follow. But sometimes I launch into prayer and theology, in the midst of a simple story. I am weird, I know.

Back to my heart here. In Portland, Oregon, I had to enter that hard space where "family and friends" no longer exist. Coming to the rescue, into that space, were people that helped me trust not just in Jesus, but in myself and my own voice. I know that sounds cliche. It is. But if it were not for Robert Rodrigues and Fred Sickert my pilgrimage would not be complete. In fact, it was my church that helped me most. Intown Presbyterian, shown above, housed the ministring word of Charles Garland and the worshipping wonder of Matt Curl. I will never forget Charles saying to me, "Do not fear, for I am with you." These revelatory words would cast a balm over my entire year in Portland. One simple phrase would cast "light" into the darkness of the year in which I was transformed from a boy into a man. And it was no mistake that Charles said these words to me the first time I went to recieve the "body and blood of Christ," that first Sunday in Portland. I knew I had come to the right place. My mom could no longer rescue me. But Jesus could "abide with me." My "name" could no longer bring me comfort. My connections to Wake Forest University no longer mattered. The fact that I was the best basketball player on the team no longer mattered. Heck, only 45 people had ever even heard of Wake out there. If I had not gone to Portland, Oregon, I would never have confronted the demons in my soul, and I would never have been weaned off my need for being accepted, and my deep need to be appluaded by my record, or my character, or my accomplishments. All that became a rag.

If I had never confronted the demons in my soul, that demon of a need for the "approval of man," I would never had experienced the freedom of the conquering love and presence of Jesus Christ, my lord. Thanks be to God for Portland, Oregon. Thanks be to God that through the "revelation of Jesus Christ," I have been turned from a boy into a man. I will always be a child. But I also now have the opportunity to step up to the plate and hit the ball out of the park.