The Beautiful Disappointment. Colin McCartney

and you’ll experience the Jamaican “irie.” You’ll hear the reggae beat playing loudly. You’ll see the people gathered together, smiling, high-fiving each other, talking and laughing loudly. There might even be a game of dominoes happening on the front lawn of a townhouse while children skip rope on the street corner. Though our staff might be from a different cultural background, we have all become honourary Jamaicans. Many of us have even come to understand the “patois” way of speaking and enjoy the roti dinners we are served when we are invited, as guests, into the homes of our wonderful families. Often our female staff wear the cornrow hairstyle so fashionable in our communities. This is a real badge of honour—a statement declaring to everyone that a mother in the ’hood spent hours working on their hair. When someone takes the time to do that, you are accepted as part of the community. You are now officially in.

      Love is visible, and it is also felt. It is seen and experienced through the hospitality present in our communities that defies all stereotypical urban projects, and we receive it with open arms, simply because we have open hearts. We really love those we serve, and this deep affection for our people is seen when you visit one of our staff apartments. As you enter their modest living conditions, you will notice pictures, tons of pictures, of children, youth and mothers, all from these communities. On their bedroom walls, you’ll see Bible verses and prayers painted around and about more pictures of these people they have come to love as their own children, brothers, sisters and mothers. Each face in each picture has a name, a story, fears and dreams. They have become part of our family and we have been accepted into their family.

      During a day off, it is common to witness one of our staff hanging out with their kids or going to a movie with a mother of a child who attends our program. When my staff talk about the children in their program, they never call them kids. No. They are always referred to as “my kids.” That little word makes all the difference in the world. It speaks of connection, care, love and responsibility. It is clear that the children of UrbanPromise are not just numbers or little projects. They truly are our kids. Every day, our staff pray for our kids by name: Shaquan, Shaquille, Aiesha, Sharene, Shevelle, Patrick, and the list goes on. And every day, our kids also pray for us.

      “And the greatest of these is love....” (1 Corinthians 13:13)

      ~ ~ ~

      “Our lives are not problems to be solved but journeys to be taken with Jesus as our friend and finest guide.”

      – Henri Nouwen

      4. The Secret Power Of Not Knowing What To Do

      One of the many blessings I received while grieving the loss of Patrick was being able to build a stronger friendship with John Elliot, director of the Warden Woods Community Centre, at the time of the tragedy. Before Patrick’s murder, John and I were just friends on a casual business basis. After, we became closer friends. Hardships tend to bond sufferers together.

      John Elliot was born in Northern Ireland and had worked at the centre for over 15 years. He is a humble man, with a strong Irish accent and an impeccable work ethic, whose love for his staff and the community was obvious. When I think of John, I see a faithful man who made the Warden Woods Community Centre effective in fulfilling its mandate. He always deflected any praise he received and made sure that his staff got proper recognition and encouragement. He empowered them and they in turn respected his guidance.

      John arrived at the centre shortly before I did early in the morning after Patrick’s murder. When John heard I was in the building, he had his receptionist call me into his office for a quick meeting. I slowly cut through the horde of media, community residents and various hangers-on who crowded around the centre and walked down the stairs towards John’s sparse office. When I entered, I found him slumped in his chair, staring out his window, looking rather depressed. Who could blame him? I knew exactly how he felt. John looked up at me and his first words were:

      “I don’t know what to do!”

      This was not exactly what I wanted to hear. I was hoping that he had some great inspirational wisdom to share with me to strengthen my resolve for the hours and days to come. Having him basically mouth the very words I was feeling was deflating, to say the least. But what could I expect? No training can prepare you to deal with this type of tragedy. This wasn’t just a normal death. It wasn’t the end of a physical illness that we had all anticipated and for which we had prepared. No. This was far worse. This was murder! The taking of a life through violence leaves a far worst taste in your mouth then a so-called “normal” death. As perplexing as death can be, murder makes things even more confusing. There is no reasoning it through. No making sense of why it happened. No sense of being able to stop it if you tried. There is a complete helplessness and anger. I knew how John felt because I too was lost in a haze of confusion. I didn’t know how to handle this tragedy either. However, my response surprised me:

      “I don’t know what to do either, so let’s do it anyway!”

      It emboldened me and became my private rallying call to action. It was such a simple yet profound statement, and I understood, deep in my soul, in those few confusing words, that it is okay to not know what to do.

      It was a declaration of failure. Yet when I said it, I felt God leaping up within my soul in response to my words. It was as if this statement was exactly what God had been waiting for me to say so that He could have the freedom to take over. I would repeat it several times a day. These eleven words of confusing surrender and trust in God became my mantra. It inspired me to basically drop everything I was doing. I cleared my schedule, disappeared from my office and just hung out in the community, not knowing what to do other than just being present and available to God’s work in me, through me and to the community around me.

      I realized that this is what ministry is all about—not knowing, but just doing. It is this wonderful prayer of submissive action that God longs to hear from His children. It is only through these prayers of trustful surrender that our souls are emptied and consequently enabled to be opened for the infilling of God’s Spirit. God’s nearness to us can only be experienced when we get to the point in our lives where we sincerely ask Him to take over because we have no confidence in our own strength. Prayers of surrender, rendered from broken souls, have the spiritual power to unleash a person from any dependency on their own fleshly abilities. Surrendered souls are able and willing to be open vessels to be filled with God’s power. The true essence of being a Christian is to surrender my agenda and to be present in the moment and available to God to use me any way He wants. In this way, He is freed up inside of me and His activity just happens all around me.

      The result of this authentic openness to God was astounding. Complete strangers came to me to talk about spiritual matters, friendships of trust were developed, love was felt and spontaneous prayer meetings naturally occurred on street corners. True relational, down-to-earth, out-of-the-church-facility, on-the-streets ministry was happening because God’s Spirit was active, filling my emptied surrendered soul with His presence, so that wherever I went, He was there. I was submitted to the Lord like never before. My agenda, strategies and dreams were replaced by God’s presence. God moved through me to those around me, not because I am qualified or have any brilliant skills. I just made myself open and available to Him by admitting that I didn’t know what to do. I was simply present and available to God and the community.

      This needs to be the battle cry of every Christian: “I don’t know what to do so let’s do it anyway.” Not having all the answers or skills to do ministry is a great thing to admit. Instead of letting our lack of ability or deficiency in knowledge stop us, it actually encourages us to go forth, totally trusting God for His skills and His words to do ministry. This is the way it should be. After all, it is His ministry, not yours. This is what walking by faith is all about. All those saints who were used mightily by God as mentioned in Hebrews 11 never had a seminary or university degree—but the one thing they all had in common was faith.