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church of uber – ADRIAN

May 10, 2019 14 comments

Saturday mornings are always interesting in Uber world. You really never know what you’re going to get at 4:00 a.m. Walks of shame are common, sleepy and/or drunk are equally normal, and hyper excited vacationers heading to Hawaii or the Caribbean are also a regular occurrence on Saturday mornings. For whatever reason, not many drive Uber early on the weekend, and I’m always slammed until it’s time to turn off the driver app. Last Saturday was no exception.

I was out the door about 3:55am. After a 10-minute trip to pick up my first ride, I stopped in front of an apartment complex that was poorly lighted. I couldn’t read the numbers on the side of the building, but my app told me that my rider (Adrian) had been notified that I had arrived. I was thinking about her name: Adrian. I’ve only known one Adrian, and she was married to Rocky. So, I was humming the Rocky theme song (getting up for the day), and sitting in the dark.

Suddenly, the back door opened and this blonde ball of fire got into the back seat. “Hi! I’m Adrian.” I turned quickly to take a look at the face with that voice. The southern drawl was unmistakably thick and twangy, with lots of sass. The kid was gorgeous. I later found out she had been out of high school about 2 years. Adrian had blue eyes and platinum blonde hair that was piled in huge mounds of curls and ringlets. Scary beautiful. The skull and crossbones tattoo on her neck was interesting, but I didn’t inquire.

I started right in: “Girl! Where are you from?” Scarlett O’Hara couldn’t have poured the molasses any thicker! “Well, I’ve been traveling some the past couple of years, but I’m from San Augustine, Texas. I still call that home.” I asked, “Did you say San Augustine?” “Yes sir! San Augustine, Texas.” I then asked her if she was a Curly Wolf (school mascot). She screamed in disbelief! “OH MY LORD! How did you know that?” I laughed and replied, “Adrian, it’s a very small world.”

Back when Patti and I could count our relocation moves on the fingers of one hand, I took a coaching/teaching job in San Augustine, Texas. I was chasing a dream to coach with my old head football coach. His hometown and alma mater was in San Augustine. He was back home to serve the place where he had graduated and played sports. Coach A had a son that graduated in my class. I had a lot of father figures in my life at the time, but Coach A was special to me. That year in San Augustine was the last of my teaching and coaching career.

The school song at San Augustine begins with the words, “Deep in the piney woods.” That is an understatement. Parts of East Texas are so thick with trees that you can only see the sun at noon. It was one of those places that could easily have been the inspiration for the movie Deliverance. I can hear the banjos playing even now. I’m sure many things have changed since 1982, but back then, it was a fairly backwards place.

To be honest, I was half listening to Adrian go on about her life in San Augustine, because my mind was sifting through old files and memories from that one year in the piney woods. At the time, I was 25 years old. For the most part, I was posing as a teacher and a coach who secretly hated being stuck in the classroom. My coaching knowledge and style for motivating young men to excel in athletic conquests was shallow and mostly ineffective. Kids usually love their coaches, unless their coaches have lost the vision for why they’re coaching. I did love some of those kids, but I was so young, I can only say that I didn’t have much of a clue about anything going on in my life at that time. Ask Patti and she’ll confirm that I had lost my mojo and excitement concerning teaching and coaching in the public school system.

My ride with Adrian was short and sweet, and I only held to bits and pieces of why she was in the Springs, but her sweet voice and East Texas speak threw me into a whirlwind of memories of that year in San Augustine. I wish I could tell you that in 1982, I was highly offended by the cultural racial norms of deep East Texas. I wasn’t. I was full of pride, certain of my brilliance, uncertain of my voice, and had never remotely considered that white privilege was a real “thing.” It is, and what I witnessed was fairly familiar to what I grew up with, and it never really dawned on me (even at age 25) what kind of hardship the kids on my basketball team suffered while trying to play the sport they loved. I never heard one complaint from any of the multifaceted injustices I witnessed, but the memories are still so alive.

I had only one white kid on my Varsity squad, and he was a move-in from DFW. He was a much better athlete than I had ever been, but I, too, was the only white kid on my high school basketball team at McGregor. My token white kid was a “gamer,” and had everyone’s respect on the team. He had also been the starting quarterback during football season. The boy was all business, yet all of my guys were easy to coach.

By the time basketball season rolled around, Nicole (my eldest daughter) was about a year old. Patti and Nicole would usually ride the team bus when we played out of town. From the time Nicole got on the bus, until we got off at our destination, she was usually hijacked by the players, and sat at the back of the bus with them. They would pass her around like a doll. I was always driving the bus, and I could see in the rearview mirror that whatever those guys were snacking on, she was getting her share of, too. The love in all of that was simply beautiful. When they’d hand her back to her mother, she was usually stuffed to the gills and covered with whatever she had been eating.

San Augustine had been one of the latter high schools in Texas to integrate (or at least that was what I was told when I started work there). Even in 1982, there was separate water fountains in the county courthouse located on the city square. I never entered the doctor’s office in San Augustine, but Patti said there were separate waiting rooms there also. I had grown up with the exact same thing in my hometown, and didn’t really ever question how things were in San Augustine.

There were small towns in Texas that had serious reputations, and very public advertising that discouraged any black or latino family from taking residence of any kind in those communities. Some of those “sundown communities” were within 50 miles of my hometown. Confederate flags flew just below the American flag. Some still fly even now. Where I grew up, it wasn’t that noticeable, but the railroad track that ran through the middle of town was a serious line of demarcation concerning which side of town people lived. As late as 1998, James Byrd, Jr. was brutally murdered by being dragged to death by three white supremacists in Jasper, Texas, which is only about 45 miles from San Augustine. Although it’s not always manifested before your eyes, you can smell and taste the ignorant hate in certain places in this world. Rohr teaches that “ignorant hate” is the real description of what it means to sin. Think about that long enough, and you’ll probably agree.

There were two chilling memories that my conversation with Adrian brought back to the surface. The first had to do with the amount of fear that black young men had concerning nighttime in that small town. After a basketball game, whether it was out of town or at home, my kids were afraid to walk home from the gym. After every game, I would put them on the bus and make sure each kid got home safely. They would not walk through the white neighborhoods in order to get home. I wished I could say that was disturbing to me at the time. It was not. I noticed it and reacted by trying to get them home safely, but I don’t remember calling out bullshit for having to take them home after dark. Those young men were afraid for good reasons. Absolute BULLSHIT!

I taught a couple of P.E. classes that year. In one of those classes was a young man who I shall call Lawrence. Lawrence was in his senior year but had spent all four years of high school in a resource program. I was told he had authority issues, was a discipline problem, and was barely able to read. Lawrence was a kid, but he was a full-grown man. On Friday’s, I allowed the P.E. class to do whatever they wanted during class. In that school, basketball and baseball was king… not football (strange, but true). All during football season, Lawrence would wear me out: “Can I try out for basketball?” Lawrence had never played organized sports, but he could definitely play the game of basketball. He had Barkley’s body, mouth, and ability to jump into the rafters, but my only concern was his temperament and willingness to operate in a coached system. About a week before tryouts, I caught Lawrence in the hall and told him I’d let him try out, but I wasn’t making any promises about him being on the team. A week later, it was very obvious that Lawrence had the skills to play with anyone, so I brought him into my office and asked him what kind of effort and attitude should I expect? He burst into tears. “No one has ever let me belong to anything.”

The backstory was bad. No dad, mom in jail, grandparents didn’t want him. Lawrence lived with a friend of an aunt, and rode a bike 6 miles to and from school every day. Lawrence hugged me after games, and sometimes in the halls around school. I paid him to mow and rake pine straw around my house. The boy had nothing.

COACH… CAN I GO WITH YOU?

As I mentioned earlier, I left San Augustine and coaching after one year. When the time came for us to move, I hired Lawrence to help me load the Uhaul. It was a Sunday morning, and he showed up pretty hung over. I could smell the cheap wine or whatever it was he’d filled himself with the night before. He was hurting, but he was a beast loading the truck. I gave him a few items out of my closet and some money. Then he grabbed me and said, “Coach, I got a question.” Okay, what is it? “Can I go with you? I won’t be any trouble, and I’ve got to get out of San Augustine.” I don’t remember exactly what I said, other than it was not possible, which sucked big time. I sucked.

That wasn’t the last time a kid asked to move somewhere with Patti and myself, but it might be one of the more painful memories of my early adulthood. Lawrence walked off my lawn crying his eyes out. I was so full of my dreams and aspirations that I couldn’t make space for anyone else’s needs. I know it is normal for a kid in his ‘20s to respond to most of life’s demands in that fashion, but it sits now like a sand-bur in my heart. Full-time ministry was still several years away for me, but obviously… I wasn’t ready. Not even close.

I’ve wondered more than once about Lawrence over the past 38 years. Is he still alive? Is he a good man and a productive citizen? Did he crawl out of his circumstance and rise above his family’s plight? Just like that ten minutes in the car with Adrian, or any ride in my Ubermobile, I had one shot with Lawrence, and then it was over. I’m reluctant to give myself a grade in that entire situation (though it feels like an D-), yet I really hope that what I did give him at the time (some love and respect) made some difference.

Overall, I’m thankful for my ten minutes with Adrian. But in a flash she was out of the car and gone. Maybe right now is more important than we can ever appreciate. Church of Uber has taught me that time and time again. It’s important y’all!

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

BE GOOD AT LIFE!

Mike

Speaking of relocation, Patti and I are moving in July to Sundance, WY.  I have been commissioned by the United Methodist Church to pastor two small churches in NE Wyoming. Thank you for your prayers… for us, our family here in Colorado Springs, our church here in Fountain (which we love), and the churches we will be serving in Wyoming!  Ain’t life a trip?!

Categories: Uncategorized

church of uber – MICHELLE

February 5, 2019 2 comments

It’s not that I haven’t had anything to report. Uber Church has been alive and well. It’s just been a crazy busy season. We all have to align our priorities, and blogging has definitely taken a backseat for a multitude of reasons. But, sometimes it is good to revisit the sweet spots in your life. There was a season when blogging was my only real outlet. We “preacher types” have to “download” every now and then or we get cranky. The audience in our heads is always thirsty for our exquisite monologues. I honestly know better, but hearing your “self” talk, think, create, or expound can be addicting. I work pretty damn hard to keep the cuckoo in its clock because it’s just downright ugly to be that unaware of our own self-infatuation.

I picked up a fairly major writer and speaker a couple of months ago. I was shocked when he flatly said, “I sold my soul to the devil.” He had my attention. “I wanted fame, I wanted to be known, and I thought that would fix me on the inside. I got my dream.” I couldn’t help myself, “How is that working out for you?” He barely whispered, “It hasn’t changed a damned thing.” I think I already knew what he was going to say.

Let me tell you about Michelle. I picked her up at 4:30am in front of a nicer hotel on the west side of Colorado Springs. She was sitting on a bench taking a last drag on her cigarette. She talked first, and asked me if I knew about the hidden gem that her hotel was. I liked her immediately. She was very short, spunky (especially for 4:30 in the morning), and cute, but she looked very tired. Within minutes, I had already heard a lot about her work. Michelle is a trainer for a giant software company, who travels a lot internationally. It was fun to talk with her about the places I had also visited. This was a woman who had a lot of energy, and was willing to spend that energy even at the wee hours of the morning.

When I inquired about where she was flying to that morning, the mood changed suddenly. “Home.” Her voice cracked as she said it. I looked in the rearview mirror and I could see her pulling out a Kleenex in the back seat. Normally, I would have remained quiet and wait to see what was coming next, but we’d already shared a bunch of words. So, I dug in. “What’s up Michelle?” I asked. It took a good 30 seconds for her to compose herself enough to talk. Finally, she said, “I’m supposed to be here all week, but my brother-in-law died yesterday.” More tears. More crying. I offered my condolences.

Michelle’s brother-in-law was 44 years old. He was a bigger man who hadn’t taken the best care of himself, leaving behind a wife, and three daughters—14, 12, and 8. I got the rundown on the situation, and it was tough. Michelle’s sister hadn’t ever really worked, and her husband didn’t really have anything put away. Since Michelle’s kids were already grown, she had invited her sister and her kids to move in with her.

As we neared the airport, Michelle said, “You want to know something about me?” I had a feeling this was going to be about self-abasement, and I was right. “Of course,” I said. “I’m a very shallow person,” she replied. “How so?” I asked.

She told me how she had had some water damage in the basement of her house. “I’ve been a real bitch to the insurance company and the contractors trying to fix the problem. I’ve been so upset over such a nothing thing compared to what my sister is now facing.” I waited for a good minute. She concluded with a question: “Preacher man, do you think God is trying to tell me something?” I said, “Michelle, life does bring a lot of irritations. Nothing is guaranteed… ever.” That got a big “Amen” from the backseat. “But you’ve already shown your heart towards your sister and your nieces. You’ve shown that you’re open to both inconvenience and mercy, even though everyone is hurting in your family. Try not to be too hard on yourself. They’re going to need a lot of love, and you’re the one they are going to look to for those things. If God is trying to tell you something, love is always involved. If you can’t sense love in what you’re hearing, it’s not from God.”

Once I got her bags out of the back of the car, I asked if I could hug her and pray for her. She said yes, then thanked me, and grabbed her luggage. As she started to walk away, she said, “It’s about priorities, isn’t it?” I grinned. “Yes, Michelle. It’s always about our priorities.” She thanked me again and walked off.

I would be a liar if I told you that Uber driving is financially rewarding. It’s not. Not even close. BUT the encounters—the people and what they’ve taught me—are absolutely priceless.

I suspect my Uber days are close to being over. I realize this expression is overused, BUT it’s definitely been a good ride.

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

BE GOOD AT LIFE!

Mike

xo

Categories: Uncategorized

November 27, 2018 1 comment

YES, WE’RE BACK IN PRINT!

 

 

This is the first of four volumes of Raw Talks With Wisdom. Volume One contains all the devos from January 1 through March 31.  In a few spots, I’ve added current commentary, but for the most part, it’s the same devotionals that were originally written and published in 2013.

These books are smaller, easier to slide into your briefcase, backpack, or bookshelf. It’s definitely a more user-friendly edition.

We’re ending the Raw Talks email campaign on December 31st. Volume Two will also be out before year’s end, and we’ll get Three and Four out early 2019

Printed and electronic copies are now available for purchase at:

 

Amazon

B&N

 

 

Categories: Uncategorized

church of uber – TAKASHI

October 9, 2018 16 comments

I realize that most of the stories I tell you about my Uber rides have some sort of serious punch in them. I love the fact that I can give you details of some amazing encounters. This one, however, is not that. Or maybe it is…

So, it’s a normal pickup spot at one of the nicer hotels in downtown Colorado Springs. I like that spot, because there’s a Dutch Bros Coffee one block away. Many times, while I’m waiting in line (there’s always a line at Dutch Bros), I get pinged. So I’m happy when I roll to pick up the next ride. I got my Dutchies, and I’m ready to go.

It was still dark when I picked up Takashi and his co-worker. After securing their luggage, Takashi jumped into the passenger seat up front, and the other guy crawled into the back seat. Takashi spoke pretty good English, but it was very heavily accented. His salt-and-pepper hair, and thickly-groomed chin beard, were both meticulously placed. He was a handsome dude, but dressed for leisure and comfort as they were flying back home to Japan. Takashi looked like a serious-minded businessman, but I was soon to find out that he was ready to use his English.

After finding out about why they’d been in town, I asked Takashi, “Was it all work, or did you have any fun?” That was when it got crazy. Takashi turned around to his co-worker, spoke a few lines in his native tongue, and asked me, “Have you ever been to Maggie’s Farm?” Maggie’s Farm is one of many recreational pot dispensaries in Manatou Springs. I knew where the conversation was headed, but I was not prepared for what happened next. Takashi started telling me how he had bought some cannabis-laced chocolate candies. When he didn’t start feeling the effects of the candy immediately, he continued to eat more…and then even more. On a previous ride, an EMT driver told me that a common call for help happens when pot tourists over-eat their cannabis eatables because they don’t feel their high immediately. The emergency tech said, “A couple of hours later, and people start wigging out in paranoia.”

Both men started giggling, recalling the memory. “I assume that was a bad idea?” I asked, referring to his overindulgence. Evidently, the experience had been funny. Both men were now laughing uncontrollably. In fact, Takashi was beating the dashboard mercilessly (I was concerned about the air bags malfunctioning), while the guy in the back seat was screaming in laughter, pounding the back of my seat, and about to stomp a hole in the floor! I thought the boys were going to stroke out.

OUT-OF-CONTROL LAUGHTER!

It did not stop the entire ride. About the time one of them would get a grip, the other would say something, and it would start all over again. The waves of laughter got into me. Geez, I cough when I laugh too hard, and I had to pull over. They were slapping each other, all the while I am laughing at them losing their minds in hilarity. I finally pulled it together enough to get them to the airport. They were still in such throws of their memory, Takashi could no longer speak in English. When I asked him which airline he was flying out on, he could only point to the American desk as we pulled up beside it. Once I got them unloaded, Takashi almost broke my ribs with a hug. As I drove off, they were still standing by their luggage on the sidewalk, tossing each other’s hair. OMG! It was CRAZY!

I have no idea what actually happened that night, but those boys must have taken “The Rocky Mountain High” to a whole new level. I really don’t think the guys were still under the influence. I just think they were re-living a night that must have gotten pretty wild. Un-be-liev-able!

So here’s the deal: If you want to get upset with me for telling this story, then go right ahead. Feel free to lump these guys (and me, too) in with the “sinners” group which consists of all smokers, drinkers, liars, cheaters, divorcees, gays, gluttons, gossipers, adulterers, lawyers, used car dealers, and politicians. You know… the people who Jesus loves despite whichever group they belong to.

But, I can’t remember the last time I saw someone laugh like that… period. I’m not a spokesman or advocate for the pot industry, or the effects of cannabis. But people have become so serious, and way too burdened, to even crack a smile about much of anything going on in their lives. If I’m to be honest, it was kind of refreshing to see that much guffawing being shared between two friends. No, I don’t think we all need to be smoking reefer. But can we laugh a little? Can we not take ourselves so seriously? Do we, can we, embrace these moments and memories with our friends? We need to laugh more, dang it! What about you? When was the last time you were in the grips of uncontrollable hilarity?

On a side note, I recently gave a ride to the husband of a woman who started a grass-roots (no pun intended) movement for parents whose children suffer with seizures and all sorts of learning disabilities. He revealed that, seven years ago, his son was bed-ridden because of his afflictions. That family moved to Colorado Springs, and started giving the kid cannabis oils medicinally (no THC in the meds). The kid is now seizure free, making great grades, and engaged in a normal social life that all kids are supposed to have. The guy was in tears talking about his son.

Ecclesiastes says, “There is a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance.”

Weeping and mourning don’t usually negotiate for our participation. Those two things can hold us hostage without a conversation. I believe it is more than okay for us to allow ourselves the right to be joyous and “giggly” in our gratitude for the things that are good, even great, in our lives. Patti and I, and our family, have had a pretty stressful summer. As hard and taxing as it was, we now get to hold a baby in our arms who fills our hearts with miraculous hilarity. We’re tired, but we can’t keep the happy tears inside. It would be a “sin” to keep them all bottled up.

One thing is certain: the Church of Uber is never boring… EVER!

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

BE GOOD AT LIFE!

Mike

 

 

Categories: Uncategorized

church of uber – MANDI

July 17, 2018 11 comments

Patti and I want to thank you again for all your prayers and concerns for William the Warrior!!!  He arrived on June 28th (8.5 lbs), and had his first of three open heart surgeries on July 2nd.  He’s still in the hospital, but making good progress daily.  You can follow the journey of William Michael Brewer on Instagram @williamthewarrior.  Thank YOU!!! -MDP-

It was bound to happen, right? With that much time in the car… among strangers? Eventually someone was going to figure out that I might be the right fit to do their wedding. Well, it happened, and it was an amazing experience to be a part of an awesome young couple’s special day.

In April of 2017, I picked up a family on an Uber run on the southwest side of Colorado Springs. They were headed to Monument, CO for a celebration involving friends. These people were headed to a party, so the mood was light and festive. It was about a 35-minute ride. It all started with the Dad (Gary) forgetting to grab a couple of bottles of wine for the party. So I whipped the Suburban around and returned to their house. While Gary was in the house, one of the kids began asking me about Uber driving. That’s a fairly common conversation when I’ve got people in the car, and it usually leads to questions like, “what else do you do besides Uber driving?”

As I mentioned, I liked these people and it felt right to disclose details about my ministry history. After a brief rundown, Gary popped off, “what do you charge to do marriage counseling?” The kids were laughing out loud, and I think I said something like, “do you need marriage counseling?” Becky (Gary’s wife) mumbled, “he might, but I think I’m good.” More laughter. I was really enjoying the ride with this family.

“What kind of books have you written?” I must have mentioned something earlier. So when I told them a little about Til Death Do Us Part, Gary suggested to his daughter (Mandi) that she probably ought to read the book. I inquired, “Are you married?” Mandi revealed she was engaged. I said, “If you’ll email me your mailing address, I’ll send you a signed copy.” I had heard enough from Mandi during our brief encounter to know that this young woman was strong, bright, and on-point with her life. I know a force when I’m around one. Mandi was a force. I spouted off my email address and she put it in her phone. I didn’t really expect to hear from her, but I was serious about sending the book if I got an email.

I dropped the family off at their location. We said our goodbyes, and I was tipped generously on my Uber app. It was one of those rides that would make any Uber driver’s day.

That ride was on a Saturday afternoon. The following Monday morning, I got an email from Mandi with her mailing address. Patti and I signed a book, and I put it in the mail to her. I absolutely love putting Til Death Do Us Part into the hands of engaged couples! I still believe the book is valuable to their preparation if they’ll actually read and absorb the power of the stories. As far as I knew, that would be the end of this story. It wasn’t.

Five months later, I got the following email from Mandi:

Mike, I hope this email finds you well. I’m writing to you because I met you in an Uber with my family awhile back, and you sent me a copy of you and your wife’s book because I was recently engaged. I reached out to my church in Denver because they usually do pre-marital counseling and we were thinking we would just have one of the ministers there be our officiant after we got through the pre-marital counseling. However, I guess no one signed up so they are canceling them for this fall. I know I could ask them anyways to be the officiant, but to be honest I had already thought of you prior to that plan and this just seemed to seal the deal that I had to at least ask you… I could not get that Uber ride out of my head and I think my fiancé would connect well with you as well.  That being said, would you be willing to get to know us a little better and be our officiant if all goes well? I don’t know what the fee is for this sort of thing, but I’d do whatever you consider fair.   Our wedding is July 7, 2018 in Littleton, CO. We would make it easy for you and come down to Colorado Springs, other than for the wedding of course 🙂

No pressure if you’re busy or not doing these sort of things any more, I completely understand either way – we will be fine and still have our church, but I had to ask. Thanks Mike! Mandi”

See? A force! I’ll shorten it from here. I met with Mandi and Everett (a slow talking Oklahoma man… that I mucho dig) several times for their premarital counseling late Spring of this year, and did their wedding last weekend! The venue was spectacular and the service went off without a hitch (not counting the driving windstorm, hail, and rain that began about three minutes before the service began). We waited for about 45 minutes, and then proceeded to do the deed.

In the few short hours I spent with Mandi and Everett, I was reminded one more time about how the grace of God makes these crazy connections possible through the most unusual means. I absolutely fell in love with these two kids. They are in love, and I felt so honored to be asked and included. What was more amazing to me is that they both strongly stated they wanted a spiritual event for the wedding. They totally trusted me, and asked me to do whatever I felt was right for their service. They didn’t really know me, nor had they ever been to a wedding which I conducted. I will say that took a lot of guts!

After all of the crazy stuff I’ve gone through with Uber (the 3:40am alarms, the gallons of coffee before the sun ever rises, and the tens-of-thousands of miles driving through Colorado Springs), my time with these two people has be such an amazing experience! Many congrats to the new Koelling family! Mandi, Everett, thank you for blessing me with such a sacred privilege! I know you two are going to rock life big-time together!

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

BE GOOD AT LIFE!

Mike

 

Categories: Uncategorized

william the warrior

June 21, 2018 25 comments

Many of you know. Some of you do not. So this is only a brief snapshot that will conclude with a request. It is a request that we’re all capable of fulfilling. Simply, I (we) request your prayers and faithful hope on behalf of William and our family.

Patti and I found out in February that our sixth grandchild, who is to be born sometime between today and Thursday (June 28th), is facing a few challenges as soon as he arrives from his mother’s womb. An ultrasound revealed that the left side of William’s heart is pretty much non-functional.  So, as soon as he is born, he will be facing an open-heart surgery to bypass the complications.  This will be the first of three heart surgery’s that William will have by the time he is 2-years old.  William also only has one kidney, but it is fully functional and adequately carrying the load.

Our family has grieved some only because no one wants their kid(s) to go through what William is facing. But, we are strengthened by several factors.  First, there may not be a better surgical team or hospital in the world that will be caring for our little guy.  Second, we have been speaking to and praying for William for the last five months. By now, he surely knows in the Spirit, that he is important to us, loved by us, and graced with purpose and the magnificent love of God. Third, we have already felt your prayers. So thank you.

There are many moving parts to this story. So, not to overwhelm anyone with details, just know that we welcome you to share with anyone you know for more prayer. In fact the more the merrier! The Lord Jesus promised his presence in times like this. In regards to this promise… we are most confident!

After the surgery, William Michael Brewer will spend extended time in the Cardiac NICU at Children’s Hospital in Denver.  William has a couple of older sisters who will spend a lot of time away from their parents over the next 5-6 weeks.  As I said, lots of moving parts, quite a few needs, with grace to cover it all.

So, I unashamedly ask and thank you in advance for your prayers and warm thoughts!  You are a great comfort to us all.

We are grateful for your amazing love!

Mike & Patti

Nicole plans to post regular updates to her Instagram account:  @williamthewarrior.  

Please feel free to follow along!

Latest Update:  See my Facebook page:  m.d.paschall

Update: 8/3/18 – William has gone home. Balloons, cupcakes, excited sisters, and cousins awaited his grand arrival to his new digs. Quite the day!!!

Update: 7/8/18 – William experienced a bit of tachycardia earlier today. He’s been given meds to control the rhythm.

Update: 7/7/18 – Nicole posted an extended number of events and prayer concerns from the day.  Check out @williamthewarrior on Instagram or my Facebook page.

Update: 7/5/18 – He’s off the vent, and getting reacquainted with his paci!

Update: 7/4/18 – William’s chest tubes and vent were removed today!  He’s off pain meds except Tylenol.  He is doing very well!

Update: 7/2/18 – William’s HLHS first surgery went as well as could be expected. He is in the CICU in Children’s Hospital in Aurora, CO.

Update: 6/28/18 – William is here!  Born @ 12:50pm – weighs 8.5 lbs – brown hair – beautiful!  Mom is tired but great!

Update: 6/23/18 – Surgery for William will be Monday, July 2nd.

 

 

 

Categories: Uncategorized

church of uber – HAMMERED

April 13, 2018 10 comments

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

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