Standing in the backyard comprehending that I was actually going to have to cut the grass in spite of how brown it is, the roofers on the house behind mine stopped and stared at me. I stared back.
"That your house?" this large brown guy yelled.
I nodded.
"You got serious hail damage," he said. "I'll bring you my card later."
So I called Nanci my half-sister and insurance agent and this adjuster came. We chatted about Seminary because his wife attended one. I'm not sure how that came up. But I climbed on the roof with him and it looked fine to me.
"You got serious hail damage," he said as soon as we were up there.
"What?" I asked.
"Oh you can't tell unless you know," he said with his hands on his hips. "The hail hits the shingle and knocks the tar loose. It won't take any time at all before you got serious roof issues. Got any leaks inside of your house?"
In the kitchen the ceiling had some spots. He just shook his head as to say "You're an idiot."
A week later I got a check and I called Jimmie.
I've known him twenty years, most of it during his multiple visits to Union Mission. He racked up more "frequent flier" points at Grace House and in the J. C. Lewis Health Center than ... anybody! Whoever is second is far distant second! Once he showed up with a 4.5 alcohol level!!!
"Medically he should be dead," the doctor told me.
And throughout our relationship I could have killed him many times over! He was forever getting himself straight, working, making a lot of money in a short period of time ... he can build or do anything ... then he'd "take it on the road," as my homeless friends call it. This means that he woke several days or weeks later with no real recollection of how he got there. Then he would wander into my office looking like the Wolfman with red eyes.
"Please let me back in Mike," he cried.
The first dozen times he did this, I was filled with sympathy and charity. The second dozen times I kept reminding myself that I am minister. The next two dozen times I suddenly completely understood the National Rifle Association.
Then a few years ago ... lightening struck ... something clicked ... God happened ... who knows? But he stopped. And he's been sober ever since. And he still does incredible work but a lot more consistently now.
When I found myself suddenly single, without a job because I'd left Union Mission, sad and depressed, Jimmie took to looking for me. He didn't know where I live but he knew my habits. Collectively homeless people know everything so he got on "the grapevine" and knew I go to Bored Meetings, the Breakfast Club and the Pier. So I would sleepwalk to these places and there he would be.
"What can I do for you Mike?" he asked. And the sympathy and understanding in his eyes was ... Godly.
I didn't let him do anything for the longest time. My world had become small and my trust in others had been damaged. Honestly, I just didn't care about much anymore.
But I have serious hail damage and Jimmie kept showing up leaving me with his card ... I had like 30 of them ... so I called Jimmie. He immediately dropped whatever job he had, assembled a work crew of fellow Union Mission alumni and they descended on the house.
And they kept working until I kicked them out.
There is now a new roof, new ceilings inside, a rebuilt and modern kitchen, shelf's, ceiling fans, crown molding, paint jobs, new screens on the porch, gutters ... they just kept going. I had a finite amount of insurance money to pay for the roof so I kept telling Jimmie and Alumni Association to stop. Just like when I would tell him to stop drinking back at Union Mission for all of those years ... he ignored me.
Finally, I kicked him out of house. Just like I'd kicked him out Grace House a hundred times.
He smiled and handed me his card and said, "Call me when you need me Mike. You were always there for me when I wasn't there for myself."
Last night I sat on the beloved back deck staring through the sliding glass doors into a place where ... "the old has been made new" to use the words of the Bible. "What was once is no more."
In my house.
In Jimmie's life.
And in mine.
