The warning – in a minute.
Seeing
as how we as silver-haired seniors are learning about teenagers and
how to reach out to them, we must, with caution, include here the
lesson we learned from the Blaster.
As
car doors were closing, members and friends of the Silver-Top Seniors
group were entering the activity center and whispering warnings along
the way. The warnings were all variations of, “Be on your guard
tonight. 'Blaster' Jackson is leading our fellowship tonight.”
No
one really knew what Blaster's real first name was, nor did they have
any courage to ask. Blaster got his nickname in the coal mines, he
worked in most of his life. He was the person that always set off the
dynamite charges.
The
way Blaster talked loud and sometimes with a bit of confusion, you'd
ask yourself if Blaster had been standing too close to his work, a
few times. Entering the activity room the first thing to be seen was
a long folding table with full coffee makers and a bowl of tea bags
sitting near a large thermos of hot water. They were all lined up
ready for action, like rifles and hand grenades along the wall of an
army barracks.
The
same muffled warnings were still being shared as the 40 or so, men
and women took their seats; three were in wheel chairs. One thing was
crystal clear in the minds of everyone, was the war these
silver-haired soldiers (for the Savior) have declared, to recapture
the minds and hearts of the youth of the community, especially the
teenagers.
When
the announcements, thank-you's, and other customary preliminaries
were finished, Blaster Jackson stood straight and tall. His frayed
shirt sleeve almost covered the 3-inch scar on his left wrist.
Peeking just over his shirt collar was a neck tattoo that said,
“MOM.” An unkind rumor started at the barber shop a couple years
ago that the rest of the tattoo probably said, “MOM loves me, 'cuz
no one else will.” It's just a rumor, you understand.
The
room got quiet as a graveyard as Blaster walked up to one of the men
at a front table. In a stern tone, Blaster asked him, “Whad you
want?” Without time to answer, Blaster asked again, “You came
here tonight, whad you want?” Again, not waiting for an answer, his
eyes beneath large bristly black eyebrows looked toward Donna
Benning. Without a word, Blaster's eyes asked Donna the question with
such force she almost dropped her coffee cup.
He
returned to the front of the room and lightly tapped the table he
stood next to, a few times, thinking of his next words. In a softer
look and tone, he scanned the faces of all his audience, beginning
with, “Whaddah we want? Everyplace we go, whether it's into the
kitchen, the hardware store, doctor, or even here tonight. We know
what we want. We mostly know where to get it, and even why.”
With
more gentleness than you'd expect possible from Blaster, he slowly
walked among the tables as he spoke to everyone, often repeating the
question, “Whaddah we want?” “Oftentimes I'd be working in the
mine tunnels so dark; so black, you'd think God's eyes couldn't see
me, down there. But you and I know He did, and He does, every moment.
Can you imagine darkness so intense, you can almost taste it, with
your tongue?”
“I
can still remember once, in shaft #14, it was black like that. The
battery on my cap lamp was just about gone. I was all alone. I pushed
the plunger to set off the blast, but realized I didn't know which
way to run. I didn't know where my safe spot was. Maybe you've had a
moment, when you didn't know where to run for safety; or even if
there was such a safety place for you. Isn't it wonderful to have
friends and loved-ones we can run to, that lovingly tell you, “Come
follow me. I'll show you perfect safety.”
With
muscled arms and large calloused fingers, Blaster pointed at the
double entry doors and said, “Those teenagers out there will be our
leaders tomorrow. They'll be making decisions that'll affect you and
me.” Blaster Jackson tapped a nearby table a few more times, giving
serious thought to his next few words. His gaze covered all the faces
present and began, “With a nickname like 'Blaster', you'd think I'm
tough and cold about everything. But it ain't so.”
“This
last week, I took a teen boy for cokes, and I'll never NEVER forget
what I saw across the table from me. I looked into the eyes of a teen
that were as dark and confused and distressed as anything I've ever seen in shaft
14 or any of um! Just like many of you, I've got Arthritis that pains
me somethin' terrible."
"But people, what pains me even more is there
are so very few grownups that care enough about teenagers around us,
willing to take the first steps to tell a teen, 'Come follow me.
I'll show you perfect safety.' It makes things even blacker to think
that church folks CHURCH FOLKS don't know how or don't care to reach
out with God's light of truth and peace.”
[more
from Blaster next time.]
