I was sitting in the west corner of my living room one Sunday morning before church. It was about 7am, I had just made my morning coffee. This morning was not so different from most. But on this morning my mind drifted to a Polaroid that I found on the ground in my family's abandoned pawn shop in Madison.
Once every few weeks I go to the "pawn shop" to look around. It usually the same things piled around. I guess I hope that something will stand out that I failed to notice the dozens of other times I rummaged through my family's collective history. On this particular trip, I happened upon a stack of photos laying on the ground. As I was sorting through them, I realized that they had once belonged to my grandmother's best friend. His name was Red. Red was the head cashier at Home Depot. Red was a gay man, Red died of a heart attack while waiting in line at a bank. Red was my grandmother's best friend.
I remember Red pretty well. For a few years Red was a consistent part of my life. He was a nice guy, always helpful. But mainly, he was a great friend to my grandmother. He went to yard sales every Saturday morning and would bring gifts to my grandma, often it was things to fix up the house. She always talked about him.
I remember hearing stories about Red's boyfriend, his life outside of my grandmother's house. I don't remember ever meeting his boyfriend. I don't know his name, I don't know where he lives, or if he is alive or dead. But I know that this is his picture that I found in the pawn shop:
It stopped me in my tracks, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I sifted through dozens of photos of this man. Some were with Red, some were with what looked like to be his family, some were of him posing in his trailer on his bed with his dog..
I kept this picture. It was attractive.
This is what I was thinking about that Sunday morning before church.
I was thinking about this picture and I had a moment of clarity where I realized that this picture was just like a section of Romans Ch. 6 in an old bible of mine. The bible (and its markings) came from me, from a time when I was in Lubbock, TX studying to become a Church of Christ missionary.
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I put them together, we had great expectations.
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