Church ministry can require multiple hats. I wore many of them. In addition to consulting in local churches I also developed a pastoral counseling practice. I would see healthy folks who just wanted to be healthier. Except for Roy. His mom–with tears and a look of hopeful expectation–asked me to work with Roy. “He remembers you. I took him to church one time when you were a guest preacher and he whispered to me, ‘Mommy, I like him.’ Please, maybe just a few times? He has so many problems and the biggest is loving himself.”
I said, “Sure, I’ll see him. How about this week sometime?” Often, we need to follow our intuition–that voice inside our heart and soul that seems to nudge us one direction or another. In that moment of intuitive awareness we make a decision as to how we will use our energy. Roy was twenty-two years old when he entered my life–and had the mind of an eight-year-old. He was locked into that childlike state of being simple and free of blame, in a world that was not always prepared to welcome him.
The day for his appointment came. I did not expect to learn the many lessons about life that I would from this little boy in a big boy’s body. Surprisingly, he drove himself to my office. I watched from the window as he carefully closed the door to an old, battered pickup truck. Roy was slim in stature with tanned arms from mowing the neighbor’s lawns. He slowly walked up the sidewalk, face hidden under a dirty, beat-up Denver Broncos ballcap, to tap lightly on the door.
He sprawled out on the couch, sipping a glass of cold water. Roy told me he was working three days a week at a nursery watering trees and plants. Inwardly, I felt grateful he had been given a job nurturing God’s beauty. He was obviously feeling a huge sense of accomplishment as only an eight-year-old would.
The next week our time together felt more like we had meshed. We took a walk and talked, stopping by the Dairy Queen for a fast-melting ice cream cone. Throughout the months we met, my admiration for this innocent young man grew. I often felt that his words of wisdom fed my soul and I was full of gratitude for his coming into my life.
On one of our walks we stumbled along a railroad track that seemed to narrow into infinity. Roy stopped and looked at me. “My Daddy died.” I said, “Yes, I know. I’m sure that makes you very sad, and I’m sorry.” He continued. “He was an engineer on a train.” Roy rarely talked about his Dad, and only minimally, mentioning that he missed him. Walking the tracks stimulated another memory. Balancing his hands on the rocky ground, he leaned down and carefully put his ear to the rail. Looking up at me, with hope in his voice, “There’s a train coming. Maybe it’s my Daddy.”
Every time we met, the Dairy Queen beckoned us. I believe Roy would walk miles for an ice cream cone. Our time together was almost over. As we neared his unwashed truck he fumbled for his keys. Roy looked up at me, almost as if he had waited until the end of our visit to muster up the courage to tell me, “Tomorrow will be my last day working at the nursery. They told me not to come back.” My first impulse was to run as fast as I could to that workplace, to tell them what an injustice they had imposed on this beautiful young man who simply believed in doing the right thing in this mixed-up world. However, I have learned it is best to avoid acting on my first impulse. So I just listened to his thoughts about tomorrow–his last day of work.
“When I go to work tomorrow, do you know what I’m going to do?” I remained silent with no expectation as to what I would hear. “I’m going to bake them all some cookies. And then, do you know what else I’m going to do?” I thought, Finally, here is where his anger is going to come out, and he’ll be able to express how unfair it feels to be let go from a job that means so much to him. He said, “Tomorrow, before I leave, I’m going to roll up the hoses the very best they have ever been rolled up!”
I miss him and all that he taught me.
