Valley Of The Shadow

Bathrooms are a big deal.

A "No public bathroom" sign in the windows is code for "We're a business, not a charity. If you have to use the bathroom, buy something."  Once the money is spent, and the key requested however, right is right.

"Where is your bathroom?"

"We don't have a public bathroom."

"OK, no problem. As you can see, I filled up on pump 5 and am a paying customer."

"I know but we don't have a public bathroom."

"Does your bathroom work?"

"Yes."

'Yes' is such a simple word. When we ask questions and 'yes' follows, our satisfaction is usually assured. But if affirmation juxtaposes denial, the odd note squeezes, 'That's not how the song goes,' out of all of us. The dissonance of 'yes' and a locked door created a strange friction within me.

Friction lights matches. 

To prevent disaster, the very box used to coax the flame must be separated from the flame. Denial sparked anger. As the situation's match burned, distancing anger from the matchbox of the moment would have been wise.

I chose differently.

I chose to remember my potty trainers. Dr. and Mrs. Pickens were born in 1941, when Blacks were systematically refused perfectly functioning sinks, soap dispensers and toilets. If gas station points existed, my parents knew of no such. By the time I was born, they were using any bathroom they wanted, but their instructions were tinged by an urgency.

They potty trained like bathrooms were a big deal.

'Always leave things better than you found them,' was about common decency, but the axiom was also cautionary. When bathroom etiquette is taught by people intimately familiar with the odd note that American segregation produced, lessons drip with urgency. I remember my mother teaching me how to quietly urinate on the margin of the bowl rather than loudly into the water. Did she teach how to make impromptu seat covers because no mechanically dispensed covers were available during her segregated childhood? Wiping any filth on and under the seat, was important to her. When finished, a gentleman puts the seat down. Washing hands was a no brainer but did everyone teach their children to pay careful attention to paper towel over terrycloth? Paper was for use, but linen for aesthetic. Burn a match after bowel movements to eliminate odors.   

Think match sticks.

If history is a dusty case of dynamite, and suspicion is the match, dissonance can light history's fuse.  

The attendant's repeated apologies, and my unwillingness to leave, heightened tension. I planted my size 14 shoes and flatly stared at the petite attendant. She bit her lip before saying, "Someone overdosed in the bathroom. We are not allowed to let people inside."

Her refusals had nothing to do with me. Rather, intravenous drug use had rendered a small town between Pittsburgh and Washington DC inhospitable; same with the bowling alley and the other two gas stations in town.  

"I found someone a few weeks ago and had to call 911. My co-worker had to give CPR. The last person we found was taken away by EMS but we don't know if he lived."

My rage was redirected to recognition of her peril.   

"How are you coping?"

"Thank you for asking. You do what you have to do. I have bills and need this job. Please sir, that's the only reason we refuse the bathroom. I didn't want you thinking it was something else."

"No worries," was my terse response. I had jumped to conclusions, still needed a bathroom, but was now filled with compassion. She saw my need, offered a bathroom referral and forgave what remained unspoken between us.

With relief came revelation.

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. ~ Romans 5:8

Sin is missing the mark and I missed the mark in a Speedway gas station. Nevertheless, Christ died for me, has forgiven me of my thoughts and returned me to a ministry among the people who are called when overdoses are discovered in gas station bathrooms.  

Police officers are called by post traumatically stressed gas station attendants. If anyone needs visible reminders of God's plan in a fallen world, first responders do. Miles away from the jurisdictions in which the chaplaincy has influence, the Holy Spirit presented an opportunity for a chaplain to (again) confess and repent.

I was traveling to raise additional prayer and financial support among East Coast classmates.

The Lord drew me into a stranger's pain. Shortfalls and misunderstandings are hazards of living and in a Pennsylvania valley I got things all wrong. The name of her town is less important than the name of our Redeemer.

Jesus has a plan.

Despite our country's history, amidst an opioid epidemic and alongside short-staffed rescuers, the Lord is moving. Sometimes seeing what God is up to is difficult. The matches we hold are moments of decision. The way the Holy Spirit reduced my paranoia is the same way the Lord moves in everyday circumstances.

Will you fast and pray for a town Christ loves, longs to reach and sent me through as a testimony?  

Bathrooms are a big deal.

An Officer's Testimony

Matthew’s Baptism Speech

Hello, 

I’d like to start off by evoking the Gospel. Ephesians 6:19 - Pray for me. Ask God that when I speak the right words may be given to me. Then I will boldly make know the secret of the gospel. 

What is a Christian? Can a Christian be defined distinctly? If so, why are there so many groups within Christianity? They believe in God? If there is a God, how does he allow good people to die tragically? These are all questions and thoughts that a non believer may think quietly, or as we have seen in recent times, yell loudly and disparagingly. 

For those who don’t know me, my name is Matthew. I grew up in a culturally Catholic household. I was baptized as a baby in the Catholic Church. I went through first communion as a young boy. But, soon after this, I stopped going to church. God became an option, a tertiary concept that was good, but not at the forefront of my thinking. When I wanted something, I prayed to God. As Jelly Roll has sung, I only talk to God when I need a favor.

As a young man, motivated by my own shortcomings and anger about who I was, I made decisions that had taken me off the straight and narrow path. The path I made, led not to righteousness and fulfillment in The Lords favor, but instead to unhappiness and never being satisfied. Motivated by my own abilities I saw life as MY way or the highway. 

God fell out of favor in my life, but I never fell out of favor with him.

It was during the rise of the peak of my own ambitions that God sent me Ashley. At the time I didn’t appreciate what God had done for me. I wasn’t appreciative of my wife and this led to bigger issues. It got to the point where I hit rock bottom. 

I took a hard look at myself. I started to make changes, but continued to rely on secular advice, books and incorrect thinking. 

I had yearly goals and getting back into faith happened to be one of them. This was in my own attempts to put myself back together.

During this time, I discovered Gods word. 

God still hadn’t given up on me. 

I started on a journey of discovering truth. I went to different churches around my home to discover where truth was being spoken. 

I eventually found this First Baptist Church. I felt welcomed here by our small community who are aged in years. While this is true, it is also true that there is a pervasive, yet quiet faith here that is strong. The congregations love for newcomers abounding. This is the reason I love this church.

While I may not be perfect and I still sin, I am now ready to turn to God. In turning to God I turn to scripture.

It is written in Proverbs 18:22 that “He who finds a wife finds a good thing.” Ashley, I am thankful that God has brought you to me. I love you and our babies. 

It is also written in John 3:16 that “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” 

Today on 3/16/2025 I am ready to live a life full of faith in Christ. I am ready to be a humble, loving and obedient servant. 

I pray for God to continue to show his mercy. I ask Christ to extend his grace to anyone weary, tired and worn out from their own ambitions as he invites us to do in Matthew 11:28-30. I have asked, I have sought and I have knocked. Now I am ready to go through the open door to the Lord. I pray through my faith in Christ that God continue to extend his blessings to me. 

Amen

The Waiting Game

 An hour is a long time to wait.

An hour of uncertainty is longer still.

Pilots know how many hours a flight takes; conductors how long the trip.  Students know when class is over.  Doubtful hours are different.

Childbirth is counted in moans and minutes; newborns take their time.  A surgeon needs time, but surgery takes time.  Nosebleeds stops when nosebleeds stops. Corporal concerns are uncertain.

"How long do we have to wait?"

"They said they'll be here in about an hour."

Waiting with the living, for the removal of the dead, is uncertain.  Grief is as the wind: invisible and unpredictable.  Victim Advocates, however, are asked to be visible and responsive.  

Providing comfort and direction, Victim Services Teams are in place to help families cope with the loss of a loved one, assist a victim of a crime, or provide solutions to those in time of need...Victim Services advocates are caring, compassionate volunteers who are recruited from the community. Representing a broad cross-section of the population, they often have experienced their own personal tragedy and want to help others. (https://www.misheriff.org/programs/victim-services/)

 Working with the dead includes waiting with the living. A Medical Examiner Investigator (MEI) may take an hour to arrive; a funeral home takes another hour. Victim Advocates wait with survivors. 

What do you talk about for an hour in a grieving house of strangers?

"My name is Alex and I'm serving as a victim advocate.  We walk alongside people on the worst days of their lives.  Your loved one's death has brought us together today.  Is helping you today, OK?"

A family may say, "No, we don't want anyone in the room.  Get out of here!"  Exiting is also a form of service.  Officers, waiting with the body, may have heard the same thing, but officers stay.  "We want to be alone," falls on deaf law enforcement ears, often frustrating survivors. 

Exiting, when told, grants survivors a bit of control in an out of control situation.  Cops stay, no matter what the family says, until the MEI arrives.  An MEI ignores "We want to be alone," while examining the body and asking follow-up questions.  An advocate, however, can be kicked around a bit.  When we're out of control, we crave control.

Advocates, asked to leave, exit until an opportunity to return arises.  Perhaps ice water or wet wipes are needed.  Silent, servile re-entries include bringing tissue, food or coffee.  Picking up trash or offering to preoccupy despondent children can get an advocate back into a room.  Service is a key that opens slammed doors.

A helpful re-entry, and quiet occupancy, rarely draws more ire.  Yes, the advocate may have been told to, "Get the f*ck out!!" but kindness is currency.  Being compassionate, with a cussing still echoing, is a part of the advocate's work.   Re-entry also reinforces that the advocate is the only person willing to do what survivors command.  Permission to stay is often granted. 

"Thank you letting me help.  What is your loved one's name?"

"His name is Eric.*"

"For someone just getting to know Eric today, how would you describe him?"

An open-ended question often changes the room.  Sometimes, all the survivors' eyes fall on the one person able to answer.  Often there's a pregnant pause before laughter, sobs or nodding heads agree with the description.  If family or friends answer, a bit of the ice that forms, when a stranger enters, breaks.  Another question sometimes breaks more ice.

"You describe Eric as a people person.  When did you find out he could work a room?"

"One time we were at a wedding and..."

When stories start, hours shorten.  Survivors take turns, listening closely and correcting any omissions.  Sharing with a stranger, tales known by heart, is a form of generosity.  A listener's genuine curiosity can melt minutes into moments.

"All of you know each other, but how are each of you related to Eric?"

If trust is established, answers flow like water.  Half-siblings from second and third marriages emerge; drinking buddies and high school classmates ante up.  Establishing relationships is central to the advocate's work.

While we wait, a family is being prepared for the next set of servants.  Funeral homes will need information.  If the deceased was a veteran, had life insurance or died as the result of a crime, survivors need to be equipped for next steps.  Gleaning nuggets of information, is a tight rope walk.

Too much writing deflates storytelling's intimacy.  Getting lost in the humor or grief, and missing helpful details, is a hazard.  Grieving family and friends may be dealing with an autopsy, police report, Social Security Administrator or platoon of service providers demanding death certificates (bankers, pharmacists, creditors).  

How may efficient report writing be balanced with genuine compassion?

See that no one repays anyone evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to everyone. Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. Do not quench the Spirit. ~ I Thessalonians 5:15-19

Prayer saturates my calls for service.  While driving to a scene the "will of God in Christ Jesus for [me]" is considered.  In this season of my life, I sense the Holy Spirit calling me to this work.  A team of believing Christians agrees to pray alongside.  Work with survivors pivots from weeping to laughter; from rage to exhaustion; from cursing to apology.  

 The Lord occupies thin places.

An hour of storytelling may precede the MEI's arrival.  Another hour to answer, 'What Do I Do Now?' often comes before a fork in the road.  Officials will either order an autopsy or release remains to the funeral home.  Advocates are trained to walk survivors down either path, but a moment comes when the body has to be removed.

Emotions are high and violence is possible.  

Removal reveals if the Lord has granted the advocate any favor.

"Thank you for trusting me with Eric's story.  Transport is fifteen minutes away.  They will take over his care and move him for preservation.  Before Eric leaves, you will be asked if you want to see him.  We lose control of our bladders and bowels when we die.  Blood and drool are possibilities.  You may want to wait until he's been cleaned up."

Unseeing a loved one's most vulnerable moment is an impossibility.  Funeral homes, and medical examiners, are able to wash and prepare a body for later viewing.  Each advocate is different, but I encourage a family to wait until a best effort can be made to clean up and say goodbye.

Brute force is needed to lift dead weight.  Corporal concerns are uncertain: limbs flop; gasses escape; fluids pool.  Inviting a family to gather elsewhere for prayer works, sometimes.  

Sometimes they want to see what cannot be unseen.  

Either way, advocates walk with survivors on their worst days.  We wait for calls to serve the living, among the dead.