Invoking the Divine

“Yo Mr. Spence, can we speak in private?”

His name was David. A young Hispanic kid with a marijuana leaf tattooed on his neck.

We walked to the corner of the yard.

“What’s on your mind, David?”

He spoke quietly. “You think you could get me one of those poem books? I’m trying to write a letter to my girl. I want to use big words and s***. Oops, big words and stuff.”

I laughed.

“Sure thing, man.”

You see, a month ago, I’d printed out four different poems and brought them to the students. The assignment was simple; at the end of the month, they’d have to stand in front of the class and recite their poem from memory. 

David had performed his poem, “The Man in the Arena” perfectly. Not one word out of place or mispronounced. The other students weren’t as perfect as him, but they’d completed the assignment with eloquence.

Another student, Ezekiel, didn’t do as well as David. Even before he’d made the long trek to the front of the class, he was sweating. His voice sounds like a Sesame Street character. He’s overweight and short. An easy target to pick on. He’d told me before class that there was no way he was going to present. I told him he would fail then. He muttered some words I didn’t fully catch but said he’d try.

Tried, he did. Fail, he did. I told him he could try again the following week.

He got two thirds of the way through before faltering. I pulled him aside after class.

“Look, I know this is hard. I know you don’t see the point. I know you probably hate me. But I believe in you. You can do this.”

His reply was curt. “I’m not going to come to class anymore if you make me keep doing this.”

I told him I couldn’t force him to come to class. I couldn’t force him to memorize the poem. But I hoped to see him next week. I hinted that I would have pizza for him if he passed this time. He pleaded with me, “But why?”

I shared a story. Last week in our adult class, we had a new student. He’d just failed out of the prison’s adult education program. As a last resort, the prison’s warden had placed him in our horticulture class to see if we could inspire him. His first class was the day that the other students were presenting their poems.

The new guy looked, smelled, talked, and acted like he was strung out. Not the ideal candidate for a college-level course. At the end of class, I told him that if he wanted to stay in our program, he’d have to memorize and present one of the four poems. He told me he’d already memorized “Invictus” by William Ernest Henley.

I laughed. There was just no way. This was his first class; he’d been with us for two hours. How could he have had memorized it that quickly?

“Alright bro, let’s see it.”

Boy did he show me up. Every. Word. Perfect.

I sat in awe. “How did you do that?”

His reply: “I memorized that poem in county jail two years ago.”

I paused. “But did you ever present it out loud? Have you ever read it since?”

His response. “Nope. It just stuck with me.”

Time and time again in this newsletter, I go back to one thought. “Light shineth in the darkness. The darkness comprehends it not.”

Certain miracles can’t be explained without invoking the Divine.

God is in this program. God is in this ministry. I am so grateful, and we are so grateful to you for being along for this journey.

May God bless each and every one of you.