Tag Archives: Teaching

February 20, 2017 · 8:34 am

Geezer Up (Part 12)

 

One moment, I felt ten feet tall, full of faith, defying the judge, announcing my fast, and the next moment, which happened as soon as I stepped out of the courtroom, I was weak old Dylan again. A seventy-three year old, bald, fifteen pounds over weight geezer who needed afternoon naps to stay awake until 9:30 at night. Not only that, I craved blueberry pie, ice cream, chocolate covered peanuts, pizza, and would have robbed a bank to get them if I had a gun or a knife. What’s my problem, I thought.

The young guard marched me up to the seventh floor to County Jail #4, a maximum-security facility for murderers, rapists, drug dealers, gang leaders, and now, a geezer with a big mouth.

After signing in, I went to a room where a soft-spoken guard ordered me to strip off my clothing so he could thoroughly search me. He then handed me my orange county jail outfit, white t-shirt, white underwear, white socks, pair of black slide sandals, and a bag containing toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, deodorant, and a locker key.

I finally arrived at my cell just before lunchtime. My cellmate sat at the small built-in desk, reading a thick book and taking notes on a legal pad. He looked up and shook his head.

“I was hoping for a cute young guy, but instead, I get an old, worn-out coot like you. What are the odds?” he said with a smile. Then, he stood up and offered his hand. “My name is Kyle Bogart. I’m the gay terminator on this wing.”

Even though he wore an orange uniform like mine, Kyle looked like he had stepped out of GQ Magazine with his stylish cut blond hair, blue eyes, chiseled good looks, and muscular six-foot frame.

I shook his firm hand. “My name’s Dylan Matthews. I’m a retired cute guy.”

Kyle laughed. “Okay, that’s funny, but because seniority has its benefits in here, you get the top bunk, and the little locker on the right.”

“That works for me.”

I pointed at his thick book. “What are you studying?”

“Law.”

“That sounds boring to me.”

“Yeah, it is, but I’m accused of murder and thought it would be a good idea to understand what the lawyers are talking about.”

“Murder? You look like a successful businessman.”

“Good guess! I am a part owner of a successful restaurant, but my partner was recently bludgeoned to death.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Well, things happen. Plus, he was my husband and cheated on me. By the way, what are you in here for? Robbing a bank or something exciting like that?”

It’s funny how at that moment I remembered his words “gay terminator” and how he didn’t elaborate on that title. My imagination kicked into gear with all kinds of hypothetical possibilities.

I blew out a deep breath and plunged into the deep end. “I spoke a short message to some men watching the parade down in the Castro District. All I said was, ‘Each of you must repent of your sins and turn to God, and be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins.’ My words caused a small riot and ended up with me being arrested for a hate crime.”

His facial expression changed from normal to deranged in a San Francisco second. His blue eyes glazed over and the vein on the side his neck popped out, looking like it was ready to explode. He hurdled the distance between us and grabbed my neck with his huge hands and began choking me. I tried to protect myself, but he was too strong. His hate-filled eyes slashed my heart as I stared into them. I figured his face would be the last one I’d see before meeting Jesus in heaven.

The lunch chime sounded.

He released his chokehold on me, much like the dogs had responded to ringing bells in Pavlov’s experiments. He looked at me and then down at his hands, flexing both of them.

“My mom preached this crap to me until I finally left home. So, don’t ever mention Jesus or God to me again because I don’t know if I can contain myself from ripping you apart!” he proclaimed. Then, he lowered his voice. “Let’s go eat lunch now, okay?”

I struggled for breath and shook my head. “No! Go ahead without me. I’m going to rest a little bit.”

“Suit yourself, but today’s lunch is pastrami on rye with lentil soup. It’s really good.”

And just like that, the gay terminator left.

(A new sequel to Unhitched Geeser, which can be checked out here.)

(Continued in Part 13…the full series to date can be read here.)

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February 8, 2017 · 6:27 am

Geezer Up (Part 9)

Jacob Cohen (J.C.) Bates and his wife, Shira, waited for me in their BMW outside San Francisco International Airport in the passenger arrival zone. I noticed J.C. packed on twenty extra pounds to his five-foot seven-inch frame, but it did not detract from his rugged good looks. Shira stood a couple of inches taller than him, but the difference seemed even greater because of her model-like figure. Both were Messianic believers and servants of Yeshua the Messiah.

“Shalom, Jane,” said J.C., jumping out of the car and greeting me with a hug and a kiss. “Here, let me put your suitcase in the trunk.”

“Thanks and shalom to you, J.C.,” I said, handing him my black suitcase.

“Even though this may not be the best of times for you,” said Shira, standing outside the BMW’s passenger door, and also hugging and kissing me, “I was so excited to see you again that I went out and spent J.C.’s money on this new black sweater. But as usual, you win the fashion prize with your blond hair, Levi jacket, and khaki slacks. You look fabulous.”

Her gracious words should have reddened my face, but instead, I broke down and wept. Shira hugged me even tighter.

“God will turn your mourning into dancing,” she whispered.

“I sure hope so.”

“Let’s keep moving,” shouted a stocky TSA agent, walking toward J.C.’s car. He pointed at us with a black baton to emphasize his point.

We obeyed and took off for their home.

 

If you have ever wondered what type of home three million dollars would purchase in San Francisco, J.C. and Shira’s condo on the fourth floor of a prestigious address in Nob Hill would be the answer. Twenty-three hundred square feet, three bedrooms, two baths, hardwood floors, gourmet kitchen, formal dining room, large family room with stone fireplace, and captivating views of Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge through floor to ceiling windows. The furniture and decorations looked like they had been selected by a top Bay area interior decorator.

Shira served a tossed salad with grilled chicken for dinner, but I only moved the food around on my plate without eating much. As soon as possible, I excused myself and headed for the guest bedroom. There I unpacked, hung up my clothes in the closet, and sat down on the bed without changing out of my traveling clothes. Somehow, I closed my eyes and dozed off.

Then, I had a terrifying vision.

In it, I stood before the Judgment Seat of Christ. I wasn’t alone because hundreds of other believers stood there in numerous rows, waiting for the Judge − Jesus − to appear in front of us. I watched Him off to my left walking down my row with a torch in His right hand. He stopped in front of each believer, looked down, and lit piles of what looked like grass and sticks at the feet of each person with His torch. The piles burst into flames. Then, the piles quickly burnt out to reveal gold, silver, precious stones, or nothing but scorch marks on the ground. Those who had precious metals and stones bowed down and worshipped the Lord. Those who had scorch marks wailed and screamed like they were in hell, even though they were in heaven.

I looked down at my feet and saw a puny pile. I knew this small heap represented all of my works done on earth for the Lord. Not much for a whole lifetime, I thought. A holy fear enveloped me.

I turned and looked at the person next to me and realized it was a successful Christian businessman, whom I greatly admired. He was an elder at Jedidiah Smith Community Church, Sunday school teacher, weekend street evangelist, and well-known benefactor. The newspapers were always reporting on his philanthropy and many works.

I watched Judge Jesus bend over and light the businessman’s pile with His torch. The pile quickly burnt out to reveal nothing but scorch marks on the ground. The businessman fell to the ground and wailed at the top of his lungs. His screams echoed through my mind.

Oh no, I thought. If this businessman’s life did not please the Lord, how will mine be any better?

The Lord stood in front of me.

I looked into His eyes and knew His love was not on trial, but mine was at that moment. He bent over, ready to touch my puny pile with His torch.

“Lord, give me a second chance,” I pleaded.

He looked at me without straightening up. His torch remained close to my pile. “And what would you do differently?”

“I will serve you night and day without complaining. If need be, I will crawl on my knees across San Francisco on streets covered with broken glass to be Your ambassador. I will gladly carry cups of cold water to people and minister to them as Your servant.”

He straightened up and looked me squarely in the eyes. His love melted every hindrance in my heart. “Remember to do your works to please Me, not to please other people like the businessman did during his life. He received his reward on earth. Go and be My servant.”

I woke up and immediately slipped off the bed onto my knees. I worshipped the Judge, King, and Lover of my soul − my Lord Jesus.

(A new sequel to Unhitched Geeser, which can be checked out here.)

(Continued in Part 10…the first 9 parts are reruns and can be read here.)

 

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February 4, 2017 · 7:41 am

Geezer Up (Part 8)

Because of my standby reservation, I was the last person to board the Virgin Airline’s Airbus A320. One hundred and forty-five other passengers walked ahead of me to their seats. I looked at my boarding pass − Row 24 Seat B − and tried to look over shoulders and heads for my seat, but my five feet three inches of stature hindered my efforts. I eventually arrived at my seat, lifted my black suitcase into the overhead storage compartment, and squeezed past the outside passenger’s long legs into the seat.

The young sailor with a shaved head in Seat A by the window looked up from his iPad and nodded at me. The lanky man to my right, sitting by the aisle in Seat C, paid no attention and opened his iPad, connecting to the Internet through Virgin’s free WiFi service. Both put headphones on as soon as the plane taxied toward the runway.

I reached down and pulled a Michael Connelly paperback novel out of my purse, but the Harry Bosch story failed to hold my interest for long. My mind kept wandering back over Dylan’s and my off-the-beaten-path spiritual journey.

It all began when Dylan walked out of Jedidiah Smith Community Church on that first Sunday in June three years earlier when the new pastor preached his first sermon. Dylan explained that he couldn’t listen to another sermon while he ignored the Lord’s voice telling him to branch off into a different type of church ministry. That different type of ministry ended up being a home church, which we called Last Chance. Two senior couples joined us in the new venture: Phil and Faye Strawmeier and Vinnie and Gracie Nguyen. Both couples had been four of our closest friends for years. Others joined our house church so that the original assembly now numbered eighteen people.

But it was Pamela Walter’s words to Dylan and me just before she died which stirred Dylan’s heart. “The Lord wants the Last Chance groups, like yours, to spread all along the West Coast, from San Diego to Seattle. He wants to use senior citizens as His last chance army to touch millions of people −” she said.

Dylan interrupted her and explained we didn’t know how to do something like that.

I still remember her words: “Shush! Of course, you don’t, but He knows how to do it. Fast and pray and He will show you.”

Then, she died.

Dylan focused his life on obeying Pamela’s prophetic words to us from that moment forward. He fasted, prayed, studied the word, and continually sought the Lord on what we needed to do. His seeking led to three new groups being started: one in Hemet, Lake Elsinore, and Corona.

I went along with whatever Dylan wanted, not because I heard the Lord’s voice for myself or even felt impressed to do so. I just trusted that Dylan had heard the Lord’s voice and followed him. Maybe I caved in too easily rather than seeking the Lord on my own, but that’s how I handled it.

But when Dylan said he felt the Lord wanted us to plant Last Chance home churches in San Francisco, I was shocked. As he spoke his vision to me, I comforted myself by figuring it would be years before we reached the Bay area. Yet, two days later, he received an invitation to speak at a Business Men’s Fellowship luncheon in China Town. He left a week later, hoping doors would open for Last Chance groups in San Francisco.

I watched him leave and waved at him, but in my heart, I prayed nothing special would happen. I hoped it would be a nice trip for Dylan but nothing more. Nothing more at all.

Maybe you think I’m selfish and maybe I am. But I am seventy-three years old and so is Dylan. I want to get off this spiritual merry-go-round and enjoy life again. I want to travel to Branson, Lake Tahoe, Las Vegas, and even Paris or London. I want to enjoy our sunset years without worrying about jail or confrontations or planting more home churches. Why not? We deserve it, don’t we?

(A new sequel to Unhitched Geeser, which can be checked out here.)

(Continued in Part 8…the first 9 parts are reruns and can be read here.)

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February 2, 2017 · 6:20 am

Prayers for America (2/2/2017)

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I have just finished reading Waterloo: The History of Four Days, Three Armies, and Three Battles by Bernard Cornwell. It was an eyeopening book.

As most of us realize, the Battle of Waterloo was a history changing battle for all of Western Civilization. Its biggest consequence was that most of our nations ended up being republics and democracies rather than empires and dictatorships.

Yet, the battle itself was marked by terrible mistakes by both France and Great Britain and its allies. Any of these mistakes could have made the difference in the battle if they had not occurred.

For instance, the Duke of Wellington overlooked France’s advance on British lines. Because of this, he and his staff attended a ball the night before the battle in Brussels. Many of these men fought the next day in their dancing sandals and their best outfits instead of boots and soldiers’ uniforms.

Napoleon, on the other hand, could have kept on marching right through the British lines while Wellington was dancing, but stopped for the night. He then delayed his battle plans the next morning for over four hours because the ground was wet. This delay allowed the Prussians to arrive on the scene later in the day to help gain the victory for the allies.

Also, Napoleon’s orders to his generals were so garbled that his leaders failed to act in a timely fashion. Each of his two top leaders could have turned the tide for the French if they had understood the orders.

But one thing the Duke of Wellington did do: he stayed with his strength, which was a defensive strategy. He knew Napoleon was an offensive strategist. So, he waited at the top of a ridge, forcing the French to attack across a wet, soggy field and then up a hill into his strength.

When Napoleon sent his best soldiers – the Old Guard – into the battle. The unbeaten French soldiers marched up to the top of the ridge to face a disastrous surprise. Wellington had kept his best soldiers hidden behind the ridge, lying on the ground, and out of sight. The British soldiers rose up when the French were 25-30 paces away and fired volley after volley into the French soldiers. It turned into a slaughter and the French fled the battlefield.

“A plan seldom survives first contact with the enemy. A plan is basically good intentions. The key question is not ‘Do you have a plan?’ The question is ‘…Can you take the plan and adapt it to the situation on the ground, no matter the situation?’ (Excerpt from Planning + Preparation = Survival by Larry Nevenhoven, © 2013, Amazon eBook)

Like Great Britain and its allies at the Battle of Waterloo, America and its leaders will make errors, some of them big ones, but we need to hold on to our strength in the days ahead, which is God.

My prayer today:

Lord, help us American believers to humble ourselves and pray and seek Your face and turn from our wicked ways so that You will hear from heaven, forgive our sins, and heal our land. (Based on 2 Chronicles 7:14)

What do you think and has the Lord spoken to you today?

Join with me on Thursdays to fast and pray for America.

 

 

 

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February 1, 2017 · 9:17 am

Geezer Up (Part 6)

Jane

My wife, Jane, can best explain what was going through her mind from the time of my phone call until the arraignment:

The first thought to cross my mind when Dylan phoned was to give him a big piece of my mind. We had planned our forty-eighth anniversary trip to Tahoe for months and even paid a nonrefundable deposit on a five-bedroom home on the beach. Our three children, their mates, and our eight grandchildren were going to be there, too. All of us in one home on the lake for seven days. It was a dream vacation and how many more of these could we expect to have in the years ahead? I could have chewed nails when I hung up, especially after him saying that it was no big deal!

I slammed the phone down and screamed.

That’s when the Holy Spirit spoke to my heart, “Quit acting like a baby. Call the lawyer. Get on a plane and fly to San Francisco. Dylan needs you.”

I fell to my knees and wept.

“Forgive me, Lord.”

But without missing a beat, I jumped up, phoned Jacob, our lawyer, and made a standby reservation for a flight on Virgin Airlines out of San Diego International Airport to San Francisco. My flight’s departure was scheduled for 6:15 a.m., which gave me just enough time to pack and make the sixty-mile drive from Temecula to the airport.

Bluetooth allowed me to make four important phone calls on my trip. The first three were to our children, telling them about Dylan’s situation. The words “hate crime” never ricocheted off my tongue, but instead I termed it a slight misunderstanding, one that a lawyer could easily handle. We would see them on Saturday and have a big laugh over Dylan’s latest faith escapade. The three had questions, but I pooh-poohed their fears with a couple of quick Bible verses.

When I finished calling the three, I looked down at the speedometer. Ninety miles per hour! Jane Matthews: beloved wife, caring mother, doting grandmother, and committed believer of Jesus was acting like Mario Andretti at the Indianapolis Five Hundred, passing every car in sight. I tapped on the brakes and slowed down to seventy-five miles per hour. A police car with a radar gun sat at the next exit.

“Thank you Jesus,” I muttered.

Then, I phoned J.C. Bates. Someone needed to fill me in on the details about Dylan’s arrest and J. C. was the man who could do just that.

(A new sequel to Unhitched Geeser, which can be checked out here.)

(Continued in Part 7…the first 9 parts are reruns and can be read here.)

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January 31, 2017 · 12:02 pm

Prayers for Healing and Deliverance (1/31/2017)

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“*Emily, if you come to the meeting tonight, the Lord will heal you,” I said into the phone.

This phone call occurred twenty-eight years ago while I was doing some teaching at a small home group. I was an office supply salesman and felt the Lord was going to heal Emily of multiple sclerosis. So, I phoned her that afternoon.

Later, she hobbled into the meeting, using a cane to steady herself. She sat down on the sofa. The other four or five attendees sat down near her.

I opened with prayer and then taught a lesson from the Bible. As I finished speaking, I looked over at Emily and saw her with my spiritual eyes. She was totally healed.

I put my Bible down and walked over to her. I reached out my hands and said, “Emily, let’s dance.”

She took my hands and stood up. We then danced all over the living room. I stopped after a few minutes and asked, “Have you noticed anything?”

“No, what?” she said.

“You’re healed.”

She put her hands to her mouth. “Oh Lord, I’m healed,” she said through tears.

Emily walked home that night with the cane over her shoulder. The next day she joined a health club and began working out. Everyone in the city was talking about her miracle.

But sadly, forty days later, she was worse off than when she first arrived at the meeting that evening.

What happened?

She lost her healing.

How?

The multiple sclerosis symptoms starting attacking her body again, which caused her to react in fear and doubt rather than using her faith and trust in the Lord to resist the sickness. The sickness overwhelmed her.

Looking back, I feel it was my lack of experience that I did not take the time to teach her and follow up to help her fight the good fight of faith.

(*Emily: not her real name.)

My prayer today:

Lord, help us to learn how to submit to You and resist the devil so that he will flee from us. (Based on James 4:7)

Join with me on Tuesdays to fast and pray for new revelations on healing and deliverance for Americans NOW.

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January 30, 2017 · 9:01 am

Geezer Up (Part 5)

“The People of San Francisco against Dylan Matthews,” announced the heavy-set bailiff in a booming voice. He walked over and handed the case file to a clerk.

Almost with a snap of a finger, I stood to the right of Artie Chin while a junior prosecutor with sad eyes stood on the other side of Chin. Judge Esther Strong sat directly in front of us. The fifty or so year old judge looked down at the file in front of her and then over at me. A slight smile crossed her deep red lips for a nano-second before she resumed her judicial posture.

The prosecutor opened with a legal sounding statement. Chin countered with his defense lawyerly jargon. Back and forth the two fired legalese-laced salvos until Chin ended by saying, “My client enters a not-guilty plea.”

Judge Strong closed the file and turned to dismiss us, but then she stopped. She leaned forward and stared into my eyes.

“I’m inclined to allow Mr. Matthews to be released on his own recognizance, without bail, but I do want to ask him a couple of questions first,” she said, pausing to collect her thoughts. “What will you do if I set you free this morning? Will you go back to Temecula and return for your hearing in two weeks?”

Three possible answers crossed my mind at that moment: forty-eighth anniversary trip to Tahoe, playing with my grandchildren, or enjoying a few rounds of golf with some buddies. All would have pleased the judge so I could have walked out the door into the sunlight once again, but they all evaporated into nothingness. What then came out of my mouth caused a reaction like dropping a live grenade into the courtroom.

“I will walk out the door and go directly to the Castro District and preach the gospel of Jesus Christ to that community. They deserve to be set free from the kingdom of darkness by the love of Jesus.”

Judge Strong jumped to her feet. A finger jutted out of her black robe and pointed at me. Anger stripped the judge of her judicial mask, revealing her true inner feelings.

“Mr. Matthews, you have no right to impose your self-righteous religious beliefs on our gay and lesbian communities. I will make sure your bigoted beliefs cost you dearly by setting your bail at one hundred thousand dollars and remanding you to the county jail. What do you think of that, Mr. Matthews?” she proclaimed loud enough for everyone in the building to hear her.

I shrugged.

“I shall not pay one dime nor allow anyone to raise money to set me free nor will I eat another bite of food until I am set free from this jail. Whether I walk out the door or am carried out in a casket is up to the Lord, I shall trust Him to set me free,” I replied.

“Well, we’ll see about your so-called God and how your arrogance holds up two weeks from now at your preliminary hearing. Next case.”

My lawyer resumed his normal breathing as he escorted me back to the small holding pen.

“Maybe you would have answered differently if I would have warned you ahead of time that Judge Strong is a lesbian and staunch leader in the LGBT movement,” he whispered.

I laughed.

“Probably not.”

Then, a voice from the courtroom cut my heart.

“Dylan, Dylan, I love you…”

I turned to see Jane waving at me. She looked great in her yellow dress, one of my favorites, but all I could do was nod my head and wonder about what she was thinking.

(A new sequel to Unhitched Geeser, which can be checked out here.)

(Continued in Part 6…the first 9 parts are reruns and can be read here.)

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January 28, 2017 · 8:07 am

Geezer Up (Part 4)

 

If someone would have asked me, “What do you want for your last meal?” It would not have been soggy cornflakes, warm milk, and awful tasting coffee, which I ate for breakfast that morning. Sugar helped me endure the blitzkrieg against my taste buds, but my stomach demanded the calories to halt its rumbling sounds. At the time, it was a dismal meal, but in the days ahead, I looked back on it as a pleasant repast. It’s funny how hunger can distort one’s memories.

Forty-five minutes later, the jailer stood in front of the holding cell with a clipboard in his hand. “Listen up men,” he said, looking down. “Ramos, Soto, Delgado, Valdez, Trujillo, and Matthews − you are in the first group to be taken to the courtroom. Your arraignments will begin at 9 a.m. If you have a lawyer, he will meet you there. If you don’t, a court appointed lawyer will handle your arraignment.”

He spun around and walked away.

I did my best to wash my face and clean up in the sink, but there was no mirror to help me in this task. I looked at the others in the holding cell and figured I looked better than some and worse than others. Oh well, I thought, this is as good as it gets for me today.

 

Two deputies guarded us as we walked over to the courtroom’s small holding cell. I sat down with the five homies on a metal bench and faced the empty courtroom. The clock on the back wall read − 8:34.

“Matthews.”

I looked up and saw a man wearing a dark suit and white shirt standing in front of the cell. He had short black hair and seemed to be of Chinese or Korean heritage. He motioned for me to come near him.

“I’m Artie Chin. Your lawyer, Jacob, referred me to you,” he whispered.

“Thanks,” I replied.

“You are charged with a hate crime for preaching to gays. This is a new law enacted by the San Francisco City Council and went into effect one week ago, just in time for Pride Week. The good news for you is that you are the worst possible test case for the law −”

“Why?”

He blew out a deep breath.

“You’re a retired seventy-three year old man, not an ordained preacher, have no ministry, and have no history of preaching or writing against gays. They’re after bigger fish than you.”

“Okay, what do you think I should do?”

“I’m sure you will be released on personal recognizance. No bail required. You will have to promise to show up in court a couple of weeks from now, but I think I can get the charges dropped altogether. The judge may ask some questions, but probably not. You should be a free man in about sixty minutes.”

His words would have encouraged me if the Holy Spirit had not spoken to me a few hours earlier. So, I prepared myself for bad news.

(A new sequel to Unhitched Geeser, which can be checked out here.)

(Continued in Part 5…the first 9 parts are reruns and can be read here.)

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January 27, 2017 · 6:29 am

Geezer Up (Part 3)

 

The afternoon turned into evening and the evening into night. Fourteen people joined us in the holding cell. The newcomers forced me to make a decision between sitting with tattoo-covered murderers or with vomiting drunks and strung-out druggies. I chose the five MS-13 homies and behaved myself.

Do you remember how bad school lunches tasted when you were in first grade? Dry bread, chalky-tasting peanut butter sandwiches, and soggy potato chips served with stewed prunes and a dollop of day-old whipped cream. All of it ladled out on a yellow compartment tray.

Well, let me tell you, my first bite into the peanut butter sandwich made me yearn for the good old days of first grade. I gagged and spit up a mouthful into a napkin.

“Hey, old white man, about three in the morning, you’ll be wishing you ate this garbage,” said the youth with the teardrops tattooed under his eyes.

I shook my head and offered my tray to him. He took it and consumed both his and mine. I admired how he and his friends adapted to their situations without so much as a single complaint. I supposed being in jail was just a normal part of their lives.

But the smell!

Nineteen guys in a ten by twenty room with vomit, diarrhea, normal toilet usage, and BO swirling around us without a fan to alleviate the stench. My poor stomach tried its best to unload itself, but somehow everything remained below deck. Steady as she goes, I thought to myself in a moment of humor, which quickly passed.

And sleeping!

If I leaned back, my back hurt because of the iron bars, but leaning forward moved my nose closer to the vomit and diarrhea on the floor. I compromised by slouching down like an old sweater midway between both positions. I dozed a little here and there throughout the night, but around 3 a.m., I had a vision.

In it, I was seated high above the city of San Francisco, maybe even in the heavenly places, which are mentioned in the Bible. I heard the Holy Spirit speak to my heart, “I am going to use your time in jail as an opportunity to take on the spirit of depravity, which is the main principality governing San Francisco. Be bold and allow me to speak through you. I will give you more than enough grace for this season of your life.”

I then fell into a deep sleep, comforted by the gift of faith, which enveloped me like a warm quilt.

(A new sequel to Unhitched Geeser, which can be checked out here.)

(Continued in Part 4…the first 9 parts are reruns and can be read here.)

 

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January 25, 2017 · 8:49 am

Geezer Up (Part 2)

 Any syrupy ideas I might have had about jail were erased when the door banged shut to my holding cell. The five young men who sat on the bolted down metal benches, which lined both sides of the cell, followed me with their dark eyes as I sat down in the far right corner. A stainless steel toilet without a lid stood next to a small sink in the middle of the back wall. No privacy here, I thought.

“Hey, old white man, what terrible crime have you committed that the police would lock you up with five MS-13 homies charged with murder?” asked a young man covered with tattoos and wearing a white tank top.

My ears perked up with the mention of MS-13, also known as the Mara Salvatrucha. It’s the most violent gang in the United States with its members known for their cruel murders and merciless revenge.

“I preached the gospel of Jesus Christ to the LGBT parade watchers down in the Castro District. Some became angry and kicked me around like an old football. I was charged with a hate crime.”

“Did you fight back, old man?” asked a short young man with teardrops tattooed under both eyes.

“No, of course, not,” I replied.

The five laughed and slapped each other on the back as if my words were the funniest ones ever spoken.

“Old man, that is hilarious!” said the biggest youth with a large scar on his neck. “You preach the gospel to gays and lesbians. Then they beat and kick the crap out of you, but you don’t fight back. And you’re the one who gets charged with a hate crime. We MS-13 homies understand that type of justice. So, what happened to the gays who did this to you?”

I rubbed my baldhead and shrugged. “I don’t know, but I pray that God won’t hold their actions against them.”

The same youth leaned toward me. “Do you really think God cares about gays and lesbians?”

“Yes, and not only that, He cares and loves you, too.”

“Old white man, now you’ve gone too far.”

The five leaned back and closed their eyes, ignoring my presence.

I sat there, checking myself out. My broken nose hurt. My ribs were sore and all of the other bruises added to my suffering. Blood covered the front of my blue oxford shirt and khaki slacks. Yet, in the midst of my pain and bloody clothing, I wanted to jump and shout and praise God because He counted me worthy to suffer for His name.

“Lord,” I prayed softly, “thanks for giving a seventy-three year old geezer, like me, a second chance to be a part of the action and not allowing me to retire from Your kingdom work. And Lord, use me even more in the days ahead.”

The Lord reminded me of this prayer often in the days following it.

(A new sequel to Unhitched Geeser, which can be checked out here.)

(Continued in Part 3…the first 9 parts are reruns and can be read here.)

 

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