People

Today in the People Room we have a story that may relate to many of us, or someone we know. God is so faithful, His mercy and forgiving love never cease to be amazing.

This is a true account of the events described here, but I am using a fictitious name for the man, as I did not get his permission to write this story about him.

Trash

Some time ago a young man I knew, I’ll call him Dan, asked me to talk to him about the problems he was having in his life. I think he was sincere in his stated desire to be a ‘good’ Christian, but the issues in his life seemed to be overwhelming him at every turn. He had failed in so many ways he was sure he was beyond saving, and he was convinced his life, even at his relatively young age, was already hopeless. All he could think about were his many faults, his lack of personal discipline, his disappointments in himself, and how he had caused suffering and shame among his family. As he poured out his heart to me, he became evermore broken and distraught, dissolving finally into sobbing and tears. I put my arms around his shoulders, and held him.

As Dan described his broken lifestyle, it was no wonder that he had come to the breaking point. While he wanted to change, he was convinced he would never live long enough to get himself, and all his ‘failures’ corrected. Later, as I reflected on his seemingly hopeless situation, I thought about one of our projects from a few years earlier where a lot of ‘trash’ had to be removed.

I was contacted by a friend asking me if I would take an assignment concerning an existing, rent-subsidized housing project down in south Alabama. This development was described to me as about thirty years old, needing some serious rehabilitation. I had done a few of these rehabs before, and, though they were not very glamorous work, they paid promptly, and, well, somebody has to do it.

The rehab project starts with the ‘survey’ of the entire development, inspecting both the exterior and interior, and making lists of all damaged or worn-out materials and equipment.  This survey becomes the basis for recommendations concerning repairs or replacements needed to restore, or rehabilitate the development to ‘new’ condition, as near as feasible. In this case, a few of the units are not occupied and deemed ‘not habitable’ due to the deteriorated condition. Some apartments are nearly ‘not habitable’ but they remain occupied. This story is about one of those.

I knocked on the door of Unit B-2 and a loud voice from within tells me to come on in. When I pushed the door inward, it stopped about half-way open. I could see the floor for a distance of about two feet, and that’s where the ‘trash’ started. That’s also where the ‘stench’ started. The smells in these units could be a challenge to the stomach.

The lady inside was a heavy-set woman sitting in a worn, leather recliner, eating something out of a fast-food box. Barely visible on the other side of the room, obscured by piles of trash, she encouraged me to feel free to walk through her house, and make myself to home. It could have been funny except for the trash, and the smell. When I say ‘trash’ I mean literal trash—empty cereal boxes, fast-food wrappers, empty tin cans, empty bottles and cans, anything normal people throw in the dumpster, piled, without exaggeration, to the 8-feet high ceiling in the corner of the living room, along the walls, and cascading down to the path at my feet. This was not my first foray into rehabbing rent-subsidy apartments, but it did set a new standard in trash collection. It reminded me of the few times I had visited a city landfill.

The lady of the house had been told I was coming, and that she should let me know of any ‘problems’ in her unit. She was quick to ask if she could get a new refrigerator. I picked my way over to the kitchen, and one look into the room told me why her refrigerator wasn’t doing well. The front of the main door had two round holes, and the freezer compartment above also had two round holes, all about a half-inch in diameter. I asked the lady how long her refrigerator had been out, and she said it was about a year since her son had shot it. She explained that he had bought a new handgun, and he was afraid if he fired it outside someone might call the police, so he fired off a few shots in the house, putting the bullet holes in her refrigerator.

She also told me she needed a bedroom door replaced that her son had broken one day in a fit of anger. Down the hall I could see the remains of the door hanging on one hinge.  I asked her about the heating and air unit it the hall, and she said it was working fine, so I moved to where I could look into the bathroom. What I could see there appeared to show every one of the thirty years of turmoil. Then I moved toward the last door in the hall.

That door was closed but the lady had told me to feel free to check everything out, so I opened the unlocked door. Of the three of us there at that moment, me and the man and woman in the bed, I was the one embarrassed. They looked sideways at me without a word, and I didn’t really care about the condition of the room. I mumbled something like ‘sorry’ and closed the door quietly and started to make my way back to the living room. The lady in the recliner suddenly remembered to tell me her daughter and boyfriend were in the back bedroom: another memorable ‘first’ for me in my housing rehab experience.

I submitted all my survey results and recommendations to the housing agency, with drawings where necessary, and a contractor was hired. Several months later I was back on the site to make the final inspection of the completed project rehabilitation. Under new management, the lady in B-2 had been removed, along with her family. The trash had all been removed, the unit had been completely gutted, and everything was now sparkling new. The contrast between the ‘old’ and the ’new’ was a familiar story to me, as I witnessed it many times, turning something nearly unusable into something good and beautiful. I remember all the units, some so far gone they needed to be practically re-built. But B-2 was the one I remember most.

I thought about Dan, his life filled with ‘trash’ of all kinds, including the unsavory people who had become his ‘friends’. In his mind, there was just too much trash, too many things broken, he was too bad, so far ‘gone’ there was no hope that he could ever recover. He had thought about suicide, but rejected that idea as he would be eternally lost. So, he was at his wits end, wanted me to tell him what he could do.

Then, for the next hour Dan and I had a great time talking about his situation, how his story was not new, how everyone has to come to a turning point sometime in their life. I told him how God can take those impossible situations he was in and turn them completely around. How God has all the answers to all of our questions. How God will make a way for us where there is no way that we can see. How God can take a life so messed up with our mistakes that we hate ourselves, and he can change it to something so good we would never recognize it. We ended our discussion that day praying together, asking God to do such a miracle in his life.

Over the years I have kept in touch with Dan. Those prayers were answered. He has matured into a fine, responsible Christian man. He is a living testament to the redeeming power of the Lord who can take a life filled with ‘trash’ and re-hab it into something beautiful.