God's Wisdom In a Small Package

As a former science researcher and teacher and general science geek, I often find myself reviewing the latest scientific journal articles on various subjects. Although I am no longer involved in science as a career, I feel the need to keep my brain "exercised" by keeping up with the latest information, especially in the area of molecular biology, which was my area of expertise.

A while back, I read an article on how scientists at MIT and Harvard Medical School saw regression in mice tumors when they reconstituted the expression of an endogenous tumor suppressor protein called p53. In English, p53 is a protein that comes from the expression of a gene called TP53. The presence of p53 is crucial in preventing tumor development and growth in our cells. If the TP53 gene is mutated and production of p53 is altered or halted, then cells can grow out of control and become tumors. These scientists found that if they could get the tumor cells to start producing p53 again, then the tumors regressed (stopped getting bigger and began to shrink).

Now, table that information, set it aside in one of your brain compartments, or if there's no room left for it, just know that you can scroll back up to the top of this post and remind yourself of it later. I want to jump subjects and take you to a conversation I had with my son this morning on the way to school. But first, let me give you a bit of history behind today's topic of discussion.

As you may know, eight years ago I was arrested and convicted of a felony, after which I systematically lost my family, career, friends, money, home, belongings, and self-respect. At the time, my son was two years old. One of my greatest fears back then was the notion of having to explain to him what I had done, and what the consequences were. I honestly figured that conversation would occur when he was twelve or older. I certainly didn't plan on it happening when it did, which was four years ago on a ride to school (he goes to school in Little Rock, I live in Conway, with traffic it's about an hour drive) when he was the ripe old age of five.

A few days before that conversation had occurred, I was studying the book of James intensely, a study that actually transformed my life. From beginning to end, each verse of that book has meaning to me. In fact, it was as a result of reading the first few verses of the first chapter that my perspective began to change after I had lost so much and placed so much blame on others.

When I first stumbled upon James back in those dark days of searching for the rightful target of my blame and anger, I scoffed at his insolence. "How DARE you suggest that I rejoice in this crap!" I yelled. "Consider it pure joy..." I remember muttering. "How did you even let this idiot's writings IN the Bible?" I mocked at God. I was angry, blind, and incomplete. In fact, I was lost. I could not find it in me to forgive myself, much less accept the forgiveness Christ bought for me on the cross. I had wandered so far from the truth over the past decade that although I had turned back to God, I had not fat clue one what all this stuff meant. And of course, God with his completely bizarre sense of humor, had an answer for me in the very next verse. I could almost audibly hear him challenge me--"If you don't understand it, then read verse 5...NOW." So I did. James 1:5 says If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him. Ohh, that's funny stuff, God. Okay, fine, give me some wisdom here! Because I don't know what the heck you want me to do with this hell you call a trial!

"Uh, uh, uhh. Read verse 6 first." He said.

Fine.

James 1:6: But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.

Oh, this is rich. Pure joy...trials...perseverance...wisdom...FAITH. Okay, God. Forgive my sarcasm. I do believe you can give me wisdom. I have faith in your wisdom, and I seek it.

I remember feeling an unusual sense of calm after having that little spat with my Maker, but no thunderbolt of wisdom hit me, so I shrugged and went on with my day, confident that I would soon begin to see things in a different perspective.

Fast forward to the ride to school that fall morning with my five year old son:

"Daddy, why did you and Mommy get a divorce?"

I knew something was different about this question than the one's he'd asked before regarding the divorce. He had a curious inflection, one that seemed to suggest deep contemplation.

"I hurt your Mommy's feelings very badly, son. I had an affair with someone I was teaching. I broke the law."

There was no turning back at that point. The questions that flowed from my little boy's mouth might as well have been crafted by an investigative reporter. They were concise, intelligent, and down right scary. The clarity with which my son articulated his thoughts and absorbed my responses was frightening, yet somehow uplifting. After I described my crime to him and the subsequent fallout, and satisfactorily answered his queries, he sat in silence for about five minutes. Finally I asked him, "Son, do you understand all that I've told you today?"

"Yes."

"Do you understand that this was my fault and that I take full responsibility for messing up our family?"

"Yes."

"Do you understand why your Mommy divorced me?"

Silence.

"Do you have any questions? Things you want to talk about?"

"No, lemme think about it. I might have some questions after school."

I dropped him off at school, hugged his neck, he reassured me that he loved me and forgave me and thanked me for being a good daddy to him.

Then it dawned on me--he goes home to his mother's today after school. He knew that. His questions won't be for me, they'll be for her.

Oh crap! I thought as I dialed her cell. When she answered I explained to her that I had just had "The Talk" with our son. She and I had discussed the prospect of having this conversation with him, but as I said before we didn't count on it coming for many, many more years. After some protests, she soon realized that one thing neither of us could do was pull the wool over our son's eyes. He was just too smart for that. Having that conversation on that morning was inevitable.

"He's going to have some questions tonight, I'm sure. Just answer them as best you can and call me later to let me know what he asked," I told her.

The next day she called me from work. I asked her if our boy had had any questions for her the night before. "Just one," she said, coldly. I asked what it was.

"These were his exact words:" she began. "'Mommy, you remember when I broke the lamp in the living room?' Yes, I said. 'You remember you told me that you forgave me because I said I was sorry?' Yes, I said. 'Then how come you won't forgive Daddy?' "

She went on to explain how she told him this kind of forgiveness was different, and how he told her it shouldn't be. She admitted she had been at a loss for words to him, and that it was true that she hadn't fully forgiven me.

As I hung up the phone, I realized that five years before I had prayed to God for wisdom in my trial, he had delivered it to me in the form of my son. I wept. My son, in his childlike innocence, had identified my biggest issue. I hadn't forgiven myself, and therefore was angry and bitter, and unwilling or unable to receive God's grace. I had hated myself because of the cancer I had become. I had choked out and damaged so many people around me, so much so that I had forgotten what it was like to be "normal," and so much so that I could not get past the damage I'd caused.

You guessed it, this is where that first bit about p53 and tumors comes in. Scientists showed that if a much needed protein could be reconstituted in cancerous cells, the tumor growth could be reversed, and normal tissue could recover.

God had shown me, through my son and His, that if a much needed sacrifice could be received, my sinful bitterness and pride could be replaced with forgiveness and love.

So here I am, eight years later, with patience and wisdom I never thought I'd possess. No, my trials aren't over, but God's wisdom is seeing me through them. And when I forget, or get side-tracked, he inspires my son to speak to me, and I smile all over again as I realize that the answer to my prayer is in the back seat, headed to school.

So what was the conversation I had with my now nine-year-old son this morning, you ask? Well, we were talking about the businesses my partners and I have started recently in conjunction with our prison ministry, when he said, "It's cool that you guys give people a second chance. Do you ever have to tell them to give themselves a second chance?"

Where he came up with that question, I have no idea (smile). But it inspired me to write this, because I had been recently wondering how to best explain to a felon how to forgive himself.

With childlike innocence...that's how.

A Felon on Fellowship

Eight years ago I made some choices that led to a felony conviction. At that point in time, society as I knew it shunned me, and I responded in kind by removing myself from it. After that, the multitude of "friends" that I once had was reduced to a number that could be counted on one hand with a few fingers to spare. Well, after this weekend at the Men's Muster sponsored by Fellowship Bible Church in Conway, I think I will have to break out the other hand, and perhaps a few toes to tally up my new friends.

For years I've avoided going to this event, because in the end I knew that it meant one thing: I would have to once again become transparent in front of a group of men whom I didn't know, who didn't know me, and would perhaps reject me as so many had done before. Oh, how wrong I was!

Let me give you a felon's perspective on what true fellowship and true friendship mean to me now.

The weekend started off with a scavenger hunt. I wasn't excited about it when I first heard "The Amazing Race" was part of the agenda. "Just another corny 'ice breaker' exercise," I said to myself. However, it immediately served its purpose: it took my mind off of all that is life, and sucked me into a game that got me focused on the weekend. Never before have my father and I actually turned our truck around, in the middle of the highway in a thunderstorm, to go back and snap a cell phone photo of a dead skunk, or a sign, or a graveyard, or a camel. When we finally arrived at the beautiful Shepherd of the Ozarks retreat, the mood was festive and the men were inviting. In a few short hours I played a game that allowed me to get to know complete strangers pretty well. I laughed a hearty, guttural laugh, along with 70 other men, when the game ended with Korey Stoner saying, "Never have I ever watched the movie Brokeback Mountain." Ken Wilson called the game and named Korey the champion by saying, "OK, I think that's gone about far enough!" You had to be there to understand the humor in that.

But it got even better. A godly man named Chris Kear, our new Executive Pastor, invited me and a few others to play "Jokers" with him, and that was after I had revealed to him and others that the reason I was in a prison ministry was because I was a felon. "Wow," I thought, "he's accepted me. He didn't walk away." Thank you, Chris. Later that evening, after it was made abundantly clear to us that we were "weenies" if we went to bed before midnight, I sat at a Black Jack table until 12:15 a.m. as John Lee proved to me that the dealer always wins. And Arnold Hameister reminded me of something I knew 20 years ago when I met him: he is truly a silly man.

Later that night I learned something about myself. I learned that as much as I wanted to justify it, suffocating a man quietly with my pillow because he snores, and saying it's for the greater good, is probably NOT OK with God. So, I possess a little restraint...no one died.

The next day brought more great things. I learned that a young man named Lee Strevig could lead me blindfolded through a mine field. I learned that seven learned men CANNOT tie a knot in a rope when they are indeed part of the rope (except for the Orange team, which I am convinced must have cheated.) I learned that a 55 year old man like Jim Merritt can make a bunch of young bucks envy his hustle on the football field. I learned that everything you've heard about Andy Chouinard's legendary prowess with a slingshot and a paintball is true. I learned that as "forgiving" as I try to be, I still want to harm members of Al Qaeda. I know this because even though Mark Hughey, Jr. was on my paintball team, I wanted to shoot him in his turban-wrapped head just to say I'm the one who finally got Ben Laden.

I stood beside myself almost as I watched a man like Lance Oden, whom I've never met prior to this weekend, put his hand on my shoulder and pat me on the back because we had endured a paintball war together. I witnessed first hand that just because the scrambled eggs are somewhat yellow, and that my fellow men had worked hard to prepare them, they still could be really awful. I learned that standing in the sun on a deck overlooking the Big Creek while drinking iced tea is just about as close to God as I've ever been.

I watched in sympathy (and laughter) as O'Neal Payne went from being convinced he could learn to see the hidden pictures in a stereograph, to being convinced that anyone who claims they could see the hidden pictures must be lying. I learned that Carey Allison grew up on the same street I live on. I reconnected with Brad White and found out how much we have in common. I was amazed, simply amazed, that with all of Kevin McKelvy's musical talents and instruments, the most excited I've ever seen him about music came after he learned that Bill Swartzwelder had the connector that would allow him to play his iPhone keyboard/organ app. on the amplifier.

I learned that Scotty Smittle truly has a kind heart; that Barry Bloomfield responded to God's call to speak, even though he didn't want to; that Jon Love overcame his past to help save our future; that Jake Melton has four chickens; that Wiley Barron wears cowboy boots 24/7; that Michael Clanton and Todd Floyd can jam; that Sam Reece is truly passionate about Jesus Christ; and that Todd Gerdes and his team put on a fine retreat--not to mention the new friendship I have with Brian Stewart, and the positive influence so many men like Chuck Martin and Matt Charton had on me.

I learned all these things and so much more. But most of all, I learned that just because you fry a piece of chicken doesn't mean it will taste good. No wait, that's not what I learned most of all. I learned that I have new friends...friends in Christ; men with whom I can be transparent, and who will accept me for who I am in Christ, and not reject me for what I've done in the past. Praise God.

As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. Proverbs 27:17.