Sizzling Cement Adventures
Hitting the ghetto apartment stacks is never the same experience twice in a row. Hoodlums line the streets, baby mommas roll past with double strollers, and the parking lots are traffic jams. It amazes me how nice the brand new Mercedes Benzes, BMWs, Audis, and Cadillacs are in the lots when the apartments are run-down to the max. Still, there are always adventures that accompany our visits to the same complexes.
One complex in particular has a lot of hoodlums chilling on the curbs and benches around. At first they yelled at us to leave and "stop spreddin dat false docter-in", but when we told them what we're all about and that we're from out west (which is like telling youngsters fairy tales of a far off land) they accepted us and now wave and tell any passer-by that we're the Mormon Preacher Boys, though sometimes they still call us 7th Day-Adventists or Jehovah's Witnesses. Oh well.
When we asked the gang whom we should visit in the area they told us of a man named Church. Yup. That's his name. Apparently he proselytes around town as well, though they spoke of him as if he were a myth. No one could point us to the exact apartment until we stumbled across it ourselves.
In a far back door in the furthest corner's building we knocked into the much awaited Church. An older brother over six feet and well set with weight opened the door and a swirling wave of incense smoke swept over us. He squinted his eyes, saw "JESUS CHRIST" on our name tags, and exclaimed a deafening "PRAISE THE LORD," and welcomed us into his home. At the circle kitchen table in the corner sat six teenage girls from the 'hood playing poker, and two young toddler boys sat on a couch by the door playing on phones. All we got off our tongues was the question, "Are these your family members?" before he answered in the most vague, "Some people could say that. One way or another God keeps us knit and faithful, but not family, but still," and went off on one of the craziest Bible rants I've ever witnessed (and I've been the victim of my fair share).
He wouldn't listen to anything we said, but sent us off with a "warm" farewell with a group circle prayer. All of the kids and teenagers ran up into a circle and held our hands. I was between Church and Elder Wind, so I was good, but the sketchy teenage girls fought for a place to hold Elder Wind's incredibly uncomfortable hand. Poor Elder Wind. To make it worse that was even the same injured hand from last week's situation. The prayer was dramatic and eye-opening, and, before we knew what had happened to us, we were back on the streets again.
Everywhere i serve it's like I'm in a different world. I've never had to pep talk and uplift an abandoned 14 year old boy in the hood whose only newfound family was a charismatic gang of fairly decent 20 year old brothuhs. His name was Bry. He never knew his father, has been bouncing from house to house with his mom until finally she felt he was dead weight and left him to be by himself. The sadness in his eyes struck me to the bone. Yet in promising him hope in the Savior and His Atonement and explaining how to look up in these dark times, a smile flashed on his face with light in his eyes and my heart melted for the privilege to be the instrument of God to uplift this young kid. Though he couldn't give us any contact information, he held that Book of Mormon to his heart with a grip that could shake the world. The hope of the Gospel is so often over looked in our good times that serving among people in their worst of times has opened my eyes further to the gift and responsibility we have been given. Rough times are destined to confront us. Only through the Gospel are we promised to reach a life of joy.
xoxo
Elder Burgess
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