We’re about 40 minutes into audio of The Gutter by Craig Gross. Since I’m a writer and all, I’d like to cleverly articulate how hearing Gross’ story makes me feel, but really all I want to yell from the rooftops is, “YES!!!! YES!! Finally, somebody gets it. Somebody articulates how I’ve felt and have been feeling. Sign me up, when can I move to Vegas.” That’s my heart speaking. The truth is I know there’s a gutter right here in Little Rock. I don’t have to move to Vegas; it would just be cool to minister with such on-fire believers.

So what is it all about, anyway? Well, it’s about Matthew 28:19-20  

Jesus, undeterred, went right ahead and gave his charge: “God authorized and commanded me to commission you: Go out and train everyone you meet, far and near, in this way of life, marking them by baptism in the threefold name: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Then instruct them in the practice of all I have commanded you. I’ll be with you as you do this, day after day after day, right up to the end of the age.” The Message

He said, “GO.” Not stay in your house and attend a church service on Sunday, then talk about how you’re doing in a small group and then serve at the church service and maybe go on a short term mission trip, then maybe a longer one then keep up this routine indefinitely and wonder why you’re uncomfortable. Well, maybe I’m just uncomfortable. I don’t want to sit and listen and not do. I am not a complacent person. I want to act on what I hear and really be in the place to love the unlovable, not just give food and clothing to organizations doing all the hard work.

I’m not judging; I haven’t done those things. I’ve scrapped around doing some things, but I haven’t done the things that Fireproof Ministries is doing; I’ve touched my foot in the gutter once or twice, but I’ve always come back to my comfortable house. But again, not comfortable for me, really. I’m restless these past months. I was restless before at my job, but I was thinking that what I needed to do was get out of working full time and be home. Being home is great, but I know I am called to teach my kids more about Jesus than the scenario just described above.

Jesus lived in the gutter. I’m convinced I’m not going to be satisfied until I get to live there too, with him. And with my family. There’s definitely more to life than this. I don’t want the American dream. God’s been moving me anyway to get rid of my stuff. A few months back, I cleaned out my closet. I have only 5 of each kind of clothing and now, that seems like a lot to me. Today, I cleaned out my storage bins which contain clothes for my baby when he reaches ages 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Yeah, lots of clothes. One, he’s a very picky dresser (already) and so I don’t really know what he’s going to choose to wear. Right now, he wears the same 2 shirts all the time. Literally, I wash and he puts one or the other right back on. Two, do I really need to keep everything? He only needs 3-4 shirts, pants, shorts, etc. too. And God will provide if we need more. Jesus specifically says not to worry about is clothing. Clothing! Can you believe it? We worry alot about clothing. Don’t tell my husband, but I’ve been helping him get rid of clothes too. Listen, he hasn’t worn that stuff in at least 5 years. He won’t miss it.

Matthew 6 ³⁰If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? ³¹So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ ³²For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. ³³But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

That’s pretty cut and dry. Back to The Gutter, one of the most striking things is that these two pastors (Christian-college trained and everything) defied all reason and precedent to minister to the exact people that need Jesus. He didn’t come to minister to the healthy, but the sick and hurting. It reminds me of Francis Chan in his book Crazy Love where he says most people think they’re called to minister to the rich. No doubt. Not me. I’ve always wanted to get down in the gutter and I’ve let the words and feelings of well-meaning people slow me down. My safety is God’s problem, not yours or even mine. If I can’t trust God to keep me safe in the gutter, than what can I trust him to do?

I also know that these guys aren’t the only ones living in the gutter, but I’ve read lots of stories and heard about lots of ministries, but I’ve never wanted to be a part of what someone was doing this much. There’s the Ragamuffins or the folks like Jesus House. I’m just not cool enough. I’m plain. I like Carrie Underwood. I enjoy Vin Diesel movies more than an independent any day. See what I mean? Yeah.

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Here’s a fun trivia fact: I’ve never played an organized team sport. Not in high school, not even in college when I had a mild freak out that it was my last opportunity to be on such a team, to experience the  camaraderie that can only be found running around with a bunch of other people all trying to achieve the same seemingly meaningless goal. While in school, I dedicated myself to the arts route, which left room for solo running and biking- activities where the only person counting on me was myself. The sports route never called to me. With one exception. A more fun trivia fact: I was in my middle school’s bowling league.

Oh yes, you read that right. Someone might argue this counts as an “organized team sport” but I don’t think they’d get too far without laughing. I would even have trophies to prove my participation had I not found it far more fun to take them apart- twisting little gold plastic bowling balls off little plastic arms. They really like giving middle school kids trophies. Let’s face it: I’d probably feel a void if I’d never received one. These trophies are a testament of my skill (“skill”)- I am better than your average “Let’s go bowling for fun!” bowler. I can’t make the ball curve like the pros, I still get excited when I get strikes but my score is always triple digits and gutter balls are practically unheard of.

I imagine there are places in the country where renting shoes, ordering a round, and playing a couple games is a fun, affordable past time. Perhaps this is as common as corn in the Midwest. In New York the idea of a night spent bowling is a considerable investment (read: mad expensive). Or so I thought until Time Out NY introduced me to  the bar/bowling alley The Gutter.

See the bar on the right and bowling lanes on the left? It all has a 70's retro vibe (which is even reflected in the prices). Fun!

The plan was to go bowling on my birthday. Which was in July. It never happened. Some how we thought we’d be able to travel from Mé Bar in Manhattan to The Gutter in Brooklyn. Maybe in some fantastical can-do universe this might be possible. In NYC, inter-borough travel is difficult on a good night. On a night when all your friends are buying you drinks, it’s near impossible.

So I’ve wanted to go bowling since July, and now I finally am with my Trader Joe’s Crush. We meet in Brooklyn, which is kind of a big deal for me. I’m not, surprisingly, the biggest fan of Brooklyn. It has this urban-suburban dichotomy going on that makes me feel like I’m in urban purgatory. I prefer feeling immersed in a city- with the skyscrapers of NYC or the hills of SF. But here we are on Bedford Ave which is quintessential Brooklyn. Lots of independent shops, great little restaurants, bikers in the bike lanes, and of course skinny jeans.

It’s nice to see someone you’ve only seen in a grocery store away from florecent lights, outside in fresh air. Still cute sans Trader Joe’s t-shirt. We grab a bite at a sandwich place before getting our game on. Conversation is as smooth as it was at check-out; by which I mean no awkward pauses, don’t worry I’ve ceased all ridiculous, calculated lines!

I’m still new enough to first dates that I can enjoy them. I like the element of the unknown, how everything is new and you get thrown curve balls you’d never expect. Like when he tells he’s… an actor.  I should’ve known. Of course the minute I say “Maybe I shouldn’t date actors” and meet a guy at a completely un-theater related place, of course he’s an actor. Why did I not see this coming? I can’t avoid them (even when I try)!

Well…I can’t dismiss him just because he’s an actor. I would hate it if someone did that to me. I’ll just be wary of the fact. He’s just graduated from a two year acting certificate program. Hmm…I wonder if that means he’s young. And simultaneous with this wonder, he verbalizes: “How old are you?” Point blank, no mincing of words. I have no need for a coy reply, this lady sees no reason not to tell her age. So I give a point blank response: 23. “Really? You don’t look 23!” ..No? “You look younger.” That’s not something I hear often. The prevalent opinion seems to be I look/act/have an aura beyond my 23 years. Personally, I think I look 23, but what do I know? Well, actually what I do know is he is young. For sure. He must be to ask such a bald faced question not half and hour into a first date. But how young? How old are you? I respond. “How old do you think I am?” Erm, I stare in horror at the possible high school senior across from me, That’s not fair, I didn’t make you guess. And I’m a lady.

“20.”

We both stare at each other in a moment of ...What does this mean? Should I just end this now? Will he/she end this now? Age is just a number? He breaks the pause, “I’ll be 21 in November.” Oh my. It sinks in. He’s not 21 yet! Uh oh…The Gutter is 21+. I didn’t even consider that could be an issue. I’ve only been 21 for two years but it appears that’s long enough to forget that some people aren’t. A New York cliché: if you are past puberty, live near the city but you’re under 21, you have a fake ID. It’s almost a given. This guy, however has nothing of the sort.

Thus the plan for this date is thwarted… which gives me the perfect opportunity to bow out… He’s 20, he’s an actor, and he’s mentioned his lease just ran up so he’s on his friend’s couch until he finds a new place (read: he’s homeless). That’s 3 strikes. Which usually means you’re out. Except in bowling. In bowling 3 strikes means you’re awesome…and bowling is supposed to be the name of the game.

I’m staring at a fork in the road: Oh, it’s too bad we can’t go bowling, I’d better get home then. Thanks for the sandwich, bye! vs. giving this guy a chance, even though he looks bad on paper, and coming up with a Plan B for our date.

What would you have done? What do you think I did? Can you stand the suspense? Stay tuned (and remember I love comments)!