Mike Paschall . com

I’m back on the road a bit after a three-month intermission. I was quickly reminded that the amount of work required to stay up with a seminary-level course load is quite taxing. I spent so much time in my office studying, my wife frequently reminded me how boring I had become. True. Between the doctrinal study and the new assignment at the church where I’m serving, there wasn’t a lot of time for socialization. It was a gruesome time of just putting your head down and plowing through. Once the class was over, I started up the Church of Uber again.

First morning back… second rider… wowzer!

Colorado Springs is very quiet at 4:30 a.m. I glide into quiet neighborhoods, scatter the raccoons and deer that are prancing around, and pick up my passengers who are usually headed to the airport or work. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, the Springs is never more beautiful than it is at the wee hours before daybreak. The inside of my car smells like French Roast and Caribbean Breeze air freshener. I love that smell. It reminds me that it’s a blessing to work, a joy to be alive, and opportunities await me to meet more awesome people.

The second ping of the morning called me to the Waffle House near Garden of the Gods. I do love me some Waffle House, and I wished I was going there for breakfast. Just the thought of pulling into the parking lot made my stomach ache for a pecan waffle.

I didn’t see my rider standing outside anywhere. Strange, but it happens. Then I noticed the Colorado Springs police car, and the officer waving me in that direction. I pulled up to him as he stuck his head out the window to greet me: “You willing to take a drunk kid home?” My first thought was, “Shit! There is going be vomit.” I know preachers aren’t supposed to think like that, but any prospects of vomit and I digress. I asked if he was sick. The officer said, “Not yet. He must have had a pretty wild night. He got here about an hour ago, but fell asleep on the counter. The staff called us to come get him.” Awesome. Just awesome.

So he opened the back door of the patrol car, and I saw the young guy was awake and talking to himself. The officer helped him out of the car and he slid into the back seat of my car. I had an address to deliver him to on my phone, but the officer was asking the kid to put away his driver’s license and military I.D. The boy was trying to put the I.D. and driver’s license into his phone, not his wallet. I know that’s not funny, but in that moment I cracked up laughing. I was thinking, “Jesus, this kid is totally HAMMERED!” The officer gave up on trying to get the kid’s stuff in his wallet, shut the back door, and then said to me, “I appreciate you taking him home, but I wouldn’t do your job for anything in the world.” I replied with a sincere, “Ditto, my friend.”

The kid passed out before we got out of the parking lot. I had the address though, and it was a 15-minute ride to the north side of town. So, I cranked up the George Jones song on Willie’s XM channel, and drove to the address provided on my Uber application. It was almost light outside when I pulled up to the house. As I stopped the car, the soldier in the back seat came to attention. With eyes still shut, he said, “Where are we?” I told him we had reached our destination. He said he couldn’t see anything. I said, “Son, you gotta open your eyes to see where we are.” I was chuckling as I watched his reaction in the rearview mirror. He eventually opened his eyes and said, “I think this is where my C.O. lives.” I inquired if he was living with his C.O. “No, I live on base.” OMG! I asked if he lived on Ft. Carson. He grunted, “Yes.” Good Lord! That was 22 miles south of where we were!

Next, I inquired if he knew the address. Nope. He knew it, but not while in that condition. I said, “Let me have your military I.D.” He started trying to open his phone again. Now I’m looking at the roof and mumbling incoherently. Crap! So I reached back to where he had fallen back asleep, and grabbed his phone and his wallet. I found his I.D. The kid was 19 years old. I started sorting through his credit cards, paper, phone numbers… anything to find an address. Nothing. Suddenly, Sleeping Beauty says, “My mom hates me. Why does my mom hate me?” Out like a light again.

Deep breath, Paschall. I have a name, but no address. All I know is that he lives on Ft. Carson somewhere. So, I figure maybe they can tell me at the gate where this kid lives on base. So I head that direction. The whole drive there, I continue to hear those slurred words, “My mom hates me. Why does my mom hate me?” There is a monster story behind those drunken words. I begin to think through the memories of everyone I’ve counseled who has ever uttered those words. The pain is immeasurable. The damage to a person’s self-esteem is devastating. Our society is fairly used to the idea that estranged fathers who have either rejected or abandoned their families isn’t an unusual occurrence. But mamas who reject or abandon… well, that’s news, and it’s pretty ugly news. Now I wonder how often this kind of thing (hammered—helplessly hammered) happens to this young G.I. I’m disturbed. I just want him home safe.

The M.P. at the gate took one look into my back seat and said, “I’ll be right back.” He walked over to a small building and three other M.P.s came out to do the same thing. They grabbed his I.D. and woke him up. “Soldier, where do you live?” Straight as an arrow, he shot out the barracks number. “What road?” one of them asked. He passed out again.

Ft Carson is a large place. You could spend the day trying to see it all. I’ve been out there 20-30 times, and I still don’t have a clue where I am when driving around. My rider opened his eyes again and called out the name of the road. Now I had the address. The M.P.s thanked me profusely for getting him home safely, and then they actually hugged the kid and thanked him for not trying to drive home. This dude wouldn’t have ever gotten home by himself. No way.

Fifteen minutes later, we were parked in front of his barracks. I got out of the car and helped him out of the back seat. I asked him if I could help get him to his room. He shoved me with enough passion to let me know he didn’t want help. So I got back in the car and waited until he got through the front door. He fell down twice trying to get to the door. Can you imagine his afternoon headache? Holy moly!

I picked up the next ride while on the base, but I couldn’t get this kid out of my spirit. It made me wonder, was he in the military because he needed family? Was he running away from something? Had he been pushed away because he had a problem he couldn’t control? Who knows? But, it feels like another reason for us to be kind and gracious with people who are dealing with deep emotional issues or domestic irregularities within what are supposed to be safe havens of love and acceptance.

I was kind and considerate on the outside, but honestly, I was “over” being that inconvenienced by this kid. And, I guess that’s the thing about “church,” Uber Church, Methodist Church, or whatever variety church is out there. Maybe church is really about working on me (the big preacher guy), and not the other way around. I’ve been doing church for so long, I don’t always realize that I’m the most needy and obvious target of another large dose of amazing grace.

So Lord, here I am. Thank you for your patience. I’m trying to catch on. I really am.

Live every day inside this magnificent truth: GOD LOVES US ALL!

BE GOOD AT LIFE!

Mike