Supernatural

There’s another woman in my life, and has been for 11 years. I guess that’s something I should have told the Church and my various Superintendents. Melissa was ok with it, and I guess everyone else will have to be, too. Her name, oddly enough, is Melissa. But it’s not what you think.

I used to see her in my downtown neighborhood. She was always walking around with her loser boyfriend. He usually had on the same shirt, a t-shirt with big letters that said, “Shut Up Bitch.” I don’t suspect I am much of a feminist, but that kind of stuff sends me over the edge. I would make up my mind to swing back around and kick his butt, but by the time I negotiated the one-way streets where I lived, they were gone. I could never quite catch them.

I did finally get to talk to her one day. She was remarkably candid about being picked up for prostitution. Then it seemed like she was gone. Saw her maybe a few months later at the McDonald’s on Limestone. I began to sense a connection between us and I had a strange sense that I would always find her again. Sure enough, saw her a few years later out by Fayette mall with the same loser boyfriend. They were panhandling, hoping to get to Florida where supposedly he had construction work. He looked too wimpy for that and it was probably a lie to get money for the next fix. And again, she was gone.

One day, when I was doing my CPE (Chaplain work) at Central Baptist, I saw her reflection in a door that was closing. (I’m telling you, I love her so much I know her coming and going). I was coming thru another door and the way the security was set up I could not get to her. But I knew she had come out of neonatal ICU. The nurse wasn’t real sure she could tell me anything, but I sweet-talked her, saying something like you know she needs help, and who better than a chaplain? So I get her name and run-down of her premature baby, probably born addicted to crack. I left a message for her to call me. Next day, she did. We got some cokes and went outside and talked. I know she was freaked out because I remembered her and all our conversations and was talking to her then. She was pretty tore up about the way she was being treated. No doubt, it must be frustrating to doctors and nurses to have to deal with a premature crack baby and not hate the mother. But she has her own problems, otherwise, crack would not be in her life. Can we love both the baby and the crack-addicted prostitute mother?

We talked every few days. Found out she is from Santa Cruz, CA, one of my favorite towns. I got a number, but it never worked. And then, she was gone. That was summer of 2000.

I never gave up. I just know I will find her when the time is right. About a month ago, I began to get this strong sense I was going to see her again. When, I did not know. I began to think, she could be back in CA, or anywhere. But it didn’t matter. I just knew I would see her again. I have been waiting 7 years. I simply trust I will see her again. It’s not that I am patient. I am relentless. Relentlessness and faith can make you feel strung out, but it sure is good when they work together, and you are proven right.

Thursday night, I stop at a gas station to get some milk. I look at a car filling up, and who is sitting in the passenger seat? Her. I walked up to her window and said, “Are you Melissa?” She nodded warily. I said something like, “You may not remember me, but I was a chaplain at Central Baptist when your baby was in ICU…” She said that the baby died a little bit later, in Florida. We got to talking a bit about Santa Cruz and she remembered me, and looked shocked. I don’t blame her; I must seem like a stalker. A holy stalker, but a stalker nonetheless.

I said, “I am back in town, preaching at The Rock on Limestone…” I got her number. We’ll see what happens. The guy she was with and a woman in the back were kind of freaked out, but asked when services were.

Y’all, this is some freaked out supernatural stuff. You can say it’s coincidence, but not if you have waited like I have. Not if you think she should be dead or in jail, could be anywhere in the country, because she has been lots of places. Why here? Why at the Speedway on New Circle? Why there when I stop in for milk? I could have passed her car by. But I am relentless, and it sounds crazy, but I am always looking for her. Somehow, she must come to Christ, and I suspect that now I am the pastor in the place the Holy Spirit has prepared where it can happen.