I Hugged Myself Yesterday

 

Deirdre Lefever: You thought he was here so you could fix him? It didn't occur to you that it might be the other way around?
Russ Duritz: ...Not until recently, no.

--- Bruce Willis, in the Disney movie The Kid, after his 8-year-old self showed up mysteriously when he was 40.

I stood outside a courtroom yesterday holding a weeping boy who had just finished sitting inside it where the sins of his dad had caught up with him. He listened as his dad plead guilty to the charges against him, because he was, and threw himself at the mercy of the court concerning punishment. He listened as the the prosecuting attorney put up witness after witness outlining the crimes, a punishment in and of itself to this son-of-the-accused, and he listened as the judge pronounced the multi-year sentencing of his dad. And then he watched as his dad turned and looked at him and the rest of his family, full of shame and regret, sadness and fear, and then he watched as the bailiff marched him off to prison.

And then he began sobbing...the only sound that he could add to the tears were the words, "I want my daddy. I want my daddy."

His daddy is my friend. I met him 3 years ago. He'd started coming to my basement every Tuesday night with a group of guys who meet there to make friends, brothers, and allies out of each other by taking the mask off, being fully known, and helping each other, whatever it takes, to become better men. Men who live better lives. The best possible one is the one we are all after, and since Jesus Christ says that's why he came...to give us that (Jn 10:10)...well, we're giving it, and him, a try.

This guy comes from a life of darkest dark. But he and I and a group of others bared our souls. We bared our hearts. And we began the exciting, but slow ascent up towards light. This guy is a good guy. But many of the sections of the ascent were steep and slippery, impossible to navigate alone without brothers, let alone without God, and he tried foolishly several times to go it alone and slipped back. We were always there to catch him, and pick him up, and challenge him back to his feet. One of those times, however, landed him, yesterday, in prison.

I and another brother from the Basement Boys were there as character witnesses. My buddy's attorney asked me a bunch of questions to show that there was a group of good guys "out there" that love, trust, and are committed to him so that the judge might give him probation. And that is why I thought I was there. And I was. And I did. (My proudest moment came when the prosecuting attorney asked me about my kids, and asked if a man were to try to give my son some drugs, would I want the man responsible to be punished. I answered, "I would want him to be changed.") I was there for that. But I was there for another reason, too.

I was there to embrace his son. I was there to get the chest of my shirt wet with some of his tears. And not for him.

I mean, sure, it was for him. But not strictly for him. It was also for me.

See, some people wouldn't have a clue what to say to him right then. I'm often in situations like that…where I’m with people dealing with dilemma's that all I can give is my presence and my prayers. And I've learned that that is enough for people. Actually, that is a lot. Actually, that is love of the greatest sort. But this time, the words came flooding to me, and not because of some mysterious and enlivening Holy Spirit intervention (which I have experienced) where you end up saying, "I don't know where those words came from!" (which I have said). Nope. This time, I knew what to say, and I knew where the words came from.

While I held him, I put my mouth next to his ear and said, "Son, I've stood right here where you are standing. I sat in a courtroom where the sins of my dad had caught up with him. I listened as my dad plead guilty to the charges against him, because he was, and threw himself at the mercy of the court concerning punishment. I listened as the judge pronounced the multi-year sentencing of my dad, and then watched as the bailiff marched him off to prison.”

At this point, I pulled back and had him look me in the eye as I continued, "...and I made it. I didn't lose my dad, even though on that day it felt like I had. I didn't. And he wasn't gone as long as they said he would be. Which was great. And while there were hard days while he was gone, this day, the one you are in right here, the feeling you are feeling right now, was the hardest. So let's you and I make it through this day, and then the worst day will be over, and you'll know that you can make it."

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

His dad gone, I drove him and his dad's truck to his house for the family. We talked some more, like deeply unified, mutually understanding brothers, 30-years removed. In that short drive home, we slipped between practical questions, somber silence, and boisterous laughter with the ease that comes from common traumatic experiences.

I guess I was there for him.

Sure, I was there for him.

Sure I was.

Sure.

Suuuure I was.

For him.

Right.

“I am just like you before God; I too have been taken from clay.” – Job, to his friends, wanting them to see they are the same

“I plead with you, brothers, become like me, for I became like you.” – Paul, to his friends, wanting them to walk the path he did, so they could have life to the full