a head He can lift up

I haven't hung around with a whole lot of ex-cons in my life, but I'm usually up for anything I haven't done before (as long as it's a day-thing and not a rearrange my life kind of thing), so I happily went along this morning when my small group teamed up with another small group to clean out the basements and yards of ex-criminal rehabilitation mission houses in the city. Our job was joy. Except for the removal of the toilet tanks that sat on the porches (I have no idea why) and the pungent smell of urine that lingered (don't ask - I have no idea), the tasks were for the most part pleasant in the cool, sunny October morning. Our task was clear: carry every broken appliance out to the dumpster and clean up the place. We did our job well, and there is no satisfaction like the visible evidence of a job well done.

At one point in the morning, though, as I was scoping leaves into a bag, I overheard a regular volunteer at the mission and one of the clients the mission serves talking. I wasn't really paying attention to the conversation until I heard the words out of the former convict's mouth, "Do you really think God could have a purpose for my life?" Direct quote. Exact sentence. A man whose history I don't even know anything except for the fact that he's been in prison for drugs, spoke with a tone of humility and revealed a disbelief ever so scared but ever so desiring to grasp onto hope, "Do you really think God could have a purpose for my life?"

That man finds it amazing, awesome with an emphasis on the awe, that God, the God he's heard about as the caretaker of good little girls and boys, the God of the holy, the devout, the pristinely dressed church-goers, has a purpose for his broken life. That God knows him, loves him, and finds him worthy to become His own child.

I love my God. I love Him. He is so shocking, radical, and offensive to the social contructs of this world that He must either be loved or hated, and I am so glad that He has opened my eyes to love Him. He has chosen to reveal His truth to a broken man, barely out of prison and holding on to his sobriety with a weak will and a prayer, so that this man, this shady-looking fellow, can glorify Him. God does choose rich and successful people to glorify Him, but just as often He chooses the poor, the guilty, the addicted, the mentally ill, the homeless, the parentless, the abandoned, the condemned, the rejected of society to glorify Him. What kind of God would seek those who have little to no credibility as far as society is concerned, to glorify Him? My God does. He'll accept a criminal who bows before Him long before He will accept a good-intentioned charity volunteer who has no use for Him. It's offensive. It's backwards. It angers and confuses me at times. But, sometimes it just leaves me in awe. I'm honored that the broken, convicted man said thank you to me today for raking his yard, and I feel I certain sense of shame that he had no idea what we were talking about when we thanked him. I'm honored that God allowed me to overhear the conversation between him and the volunteer, that God would allow me to experience a piece of His kingdom in that way. And, perhaps more than anything today, I'm honored I'll get to stand by my new ex-convict friend in Heaven someday.