Happy Birthday Charles!

“Charles asked me to tell you that we celebrated his birthday today and gave him a cake and ice cream. He wanted to make sure you knew about the festivities. He said to tell you he is 53.”

53 going on 8.

I burst into tears when I read the text message from Joy, sitting on my beloved back deck, in the middle of what is turning out to be the Sabbatical that I wanted several years ago.

For the past fifteen years, Charles and I have been constants in one another’s lives. He was my six-foot-two, African-American, mentally ill, former bank robber, current Union Mission janitor, and what was called my “adopted son” by the people I used to work with.

He has slept in the exact same bunk bed in Grace House for those fifteen years except for four nights when I allowed him to make a pilgrimage to his home town of Augusta which is the last place that he remembers his parents. We got him a bus ticket and a room at the Riverfront Marriott and Joy would pack him food and he would go and never really leave the hotel room.

The first time he went I pinned a note to his sleeve that read “My name is Charles and if I am in trouble please call Rev. Micheal Elliott at …” I was more worried than most mothers when they drop their babies off for the first day of school.

Charles is not the snappiest dresser. I saw him a week ago and his orange shirt was filthy. His green jeans were mostly held together by duct tape. His flip flops provide cushion to his toes, but little else.

But when Keller Deal, Joy Panky and I would send him to Augusta, he would put on real shoes, new jeans, and a clean shirt. These were birthday or Christmas presents that we would give him that he stored in his locker and never wore. Going home was something special to him though it was only in his head.

“Dammit Charles,” I would say, “Why are you wearing that old stuff when you have all of this new stuff that we’ve given you?”

He would look at me for a second, towering over me, close his eyes, place one hand on top of his head and say in his deep voice, “Ummm, these still have life in them sir. When the life is gone from them I’ll put on the other things.”

I had no idea how to respond.

For all of those years, Charles was the embodiment of why my work was important. Thousands came and went and were helped, but Charles always reminded me why. He is as child-like a creation as I’ve ever met and God made him so special that he will never lose the child-like-ness that the rest of us abandoned forever ago. He is perfect.

We are no longer in one another’s lives though he very much remains in my heart. Whenever I write about him, those who have met him respond or react. He is forever given little presents to those who impress him --- a stamp to Meredith, a gold dollar to Julie, a photograph to Laura, and a thousand other little things.

Once he and I sat in the Grace House dining room floor together and he shared his Oreo’s with me. He taught me to eat them by taking off the top cookie and licking the cream frosting first and then eating the second cookie. That was the first day that I ever met him all of those years ago after several Bank President’s called me to tell me that a bank robber was at Union Mission.

We broke every rule ever made for him. He deserves special considerations. Special people always do.

So on my beloved back deck, I cried because he has made it to 53 when he never had a snow balls chance in hell of making it that far. And he never would have without a lot of people ignoring a lot of rules and regulations. Efficiency is going things right, I read not too long ago, but effectiveness is doing the right things.

Happy Birthday Charles! I send prayers that the right things continue to come your way.

I love you still though I don’t see you much any more.