Processing a loss

I can't sleep. So I write.

I got a phone call early this morning from a friend. "Rob is dead. He was shot last night."

I couldn't believe it. Robert was killed. The news said that thirteen shots were fired, right in front of the elementary school where our LAMP mentoring program has been located in Homewood for the past fifteen years. Robert was a first grader at Faison School when my family first moved to his urban neighborhood. He went to first grade with my oldest daughter, Kyra. My wife volunteered in their first grade classroom. She told me, "there's a boy who goes to school with Kyra, named Robert. He gets in fights all the time. His eyes roll into the back of his head when he gets angry. He goes into some kind of zone where he just wants to fight anyone, child or adult. He needs a lot of help." 

When we moved to the neighborhood, we started opening up our home to anyone who wanted to come in and spend time with our family. Robert was one of the first kids who started coming over. He was a handful. He was a handful when we started a community dinner every Monday night, and he would bring over his younger siblings for the meal and for fun in our house. He was six, and he was in charge of his younger brother and sister who he would bring over with him. We would share a meal together, with other kids in the neighborhood. We would pray for the meal, asking Jesus to bless our meal and our time together. We would play games, and talk about life. Robert would jump on our trampoline, with his siblings and other kids from the neighborhood. He would play games with my daughters. Me and Julie would spend time getting to know him. Our doorbell would ring almost every day, before school and after school. For a while it was almost always Robert, with his siblings and other kids in the neighborhood. We did life with Robert. It was hard. 

We would talk about goals in life, and school, and what was going on in the neighborhood. Over time, Robert's behavior would get out of hand. We would try to set boundaries with him. He didn't understand. He was hard to be in relationship with. He would jump on the trampoline with too many kids, and we would ask him to leave. He would be over at our house, just hanging out. And he would become too much of a handful. Sometimes he could stay. Other times, he would have to leave for being too disruptive with other kids. Over time, it became too difficult to have him in our house all the time. He got into so much trouble at school that he was eventually expelled, and he had to go to a special school for kids who got into trouble all the time. Still, we would try to reach out to him whenever we saw him. 

One time, Robert stole my daughters' bikes from our garage. We found one bike wrecked in a dark ally, it was too destroyed to do anything with. He sold the other bike to a place around the corner that takes bikes in desrepair and helps kids to work to fix up the bikes so that they could ride them. We asked the bike place to please not accept any other bikes from Robert because he was stealing them from us and our neighbors. A few weeks after that happened, a group from outside of Homewood showed up in Homewood with a bunch of donated bikes to give out to kids in the community. Robert showed up there with is family, to get free bikes. Everyone was all smiles that day, the people giving the bikes and the kids who received them. We'd see Robert happily riding around the neighborhood on his bike. I was so torn about that. He took our bikes, and yet he got a free bike from the bike giveaway. I loved the joy on his face, though, when he was riding his bike. 

Our neighbor had her windows of her house broken out by kids throwing rocks, and it was eventually determined that Robert and some other kids from the neighborhood had thrown the rocks. We tried to work with our neighbors in the community, and with Robert's family, to have the kids who were responsible for the damage somehow repair the damage. It was a difficult path, and a troubling incident for the neighborhood. As Robert got older, we'd see him getting into more trouble. From what we heard in the neighborhood, he was involved with a group of kids who were stealing cars and stealing money from people. Still, we'd see Robert out and about in the neighborhood. He usually had a big smile on his face, and that was a smile that we recognized whenever we'd see him. "How are things going, Robert?" "Trying to do better Mr. B. I'm in online school now. Trying to get a job." We'd stop and talk. He was hard to be friends with, but he was my friend. He was my family's friend, in spite of the challenges that we had faced in the past from when he was just a little guy. 

Julie and I were out walking in our neighborhood, and a police car stopped us and said, "You shouldn't be walking here. It's dangerous. There are kids out here who are out of control. They're stealing cars and robbing people who are just walking down the street." "Oh, it'll be okay. We know the kids you're talking about. We're working with them, trying to redirect them. We know they won't hurt us." And they didn't. We'd see Robert driving by in a car, and he'd wave at us and say, "Hi Mr. Bryan. Hi, Ms. Julie." "Hi Robert."

I visited another young man that we were working with in Shuman Juvenile Detention Center. While we were there, so was was Robert. "Hi Mr. B. Hi Ms. Julie." "Robert, what are you doing here?" "Oh, I just got into some trouble. I'll be okay." He got out, and we'd bump into him in the neighborhood. Always in a good mood. Always up to something or other. We'd walk past his house and say hi to him and his family. They were always out playing in front of his house. "Robert needs a job, Mr. B. He needs to stay out of these streets," a family member would say to us. And so it would go on and on, with the occasional encounters with Robert. We were always concerned for him, as were many of our neighbors. But, we always wanted him to do well in life and we were hoping for the best with him. 

And, then I got the call this morning. "Rob was killed last night." It was a shock. My wife and I went over to his house to try to visit with his family, but there was nobody there at the house. Just a bike left by the front gate to their house, and a pool of blood in the street. Julie and I knocked on the door. We left a note for the family letting them know that we were praying for them, and that we were available if there was anything that they needed. We talked to neighbors who filled in the details of what happened. Everyone seemed to be on edge. Julie and I stood by the blood on the street and we prayed, our hearts hurting. Robert had so many challenges in life, but he didn't deserve this. The emotions welled up. Anger, pain, and sorrow for the loss of life of this child that we knew, and for the cycle of gun violence that continues in the neighborhood. Why would anyone do this to him? It's too much. We talked to a few more neighbors for a while. Then, we headed home with our hearts and minds torn up. This was all just too much. 

We had asked some friends to pray for Robert's family, and for us as we engaged with the situation. That helped, and, yet, it was still so overwhelming. The loss of life to gun violence is devastating, and it never becomes ordinary. It's always hard. It's always heartbreaking. It's always painful. It's painful for us. It's painful for the neighbors in Homewood, and it's especially painful for his family. I can't even imagine what they're going through with the loss of a child. 

This is the reality of life as an urban pastor. My life intersects with so many people and families. Some of the young people that I've mentored over the years have gone on to do amazing, remarkable things with their lives. Many of the young poeple that I've worked with have faced tremendous challenges from a young age, and, yet, they're still persevering and facing life's daily struggles head on. And, some of the young people that I've had the chance to get to know, like Robert, have died young from gun violence and other challenges. It's always devastating. It's honestly the hardest part of what I do, with leading a mentoring program and serving as an urban pastor. The tears flowed today, for my wife and my daughters first. And for me tonight. I stopped by Robert's house again this evening just to see if I could catch his family there, and there was nobody there again. Just me, and a quiet street, and a pool of Robert's blood, and memories of his short life (good memories and not so good memories). 

I'm not sure what tomorrow will bring, but I'm praying that it won't bring more pain and loss of life. I'm praying feverishly for God's shalom to break through, so that children can play safely in the streets and people can be healthy as they grow old. I'm looking forward to promises of God's peace, even as I lament the tragic loss of life that I've experienced too much over the years. Part of me wants to give up. And part of me wants to keep going, to try to find hope in the midst of challenging circumstances. After all, that's what God has called me to... to be a hope bearer pointing people toward Christ in the middle of some of life's most difficult circumstances. It's a difficult calling, and today I don't understand it. It just hurts. God, please bring your healing quickly, to this family, to this neighborhood, to this city, and to your world. Help me to have eyes to see, even in the dark times when I don't understand.