Vol II: #27 Clint
Memory is an interesting concept. Without it, we’d be lost- literally. Memory is how we learn and grow and remember everything good about our lives. Of course, memory also stores our suffering. (Our ability to move on from these painful recollections helps determine our path in life. Everyone has shitty memories. The immature hide from the lingering pain, while the mature move through it.) What I remember most about life are the moments of wonder- my first time in the Redwood forests or a fantastic meal- and people. Today, while I worshipped with my fellow students, I thought about a few men from the season I spent in Charlotte, men(and women) I loved, and the friendships long-ended.
Clint was a young, charismatic man with a great story of God’s love and deliverance. He was a former drug dealer and addict. The Lord met him in a lonely apartment, and the presence of God was so thick he had to crawl on the ground to get out of his bedroom…or so the story goes. Clint and I bonded over our independence from conventional church teachings. Neither of us was afraid to disagree with church leaders or smoke clove cigarettes. Before my second year of ministry school, we decided to be roommates. That fall, we moved into a large townhouse with three other young idiots, unaware of the trials to come.
Before the Christmas of 2002, a sewer pipe broke and flooded the entire basement of our apartment. It was an apt metaphor for the entire year. Every single man in that apartment was tested that year- in one way or another. Brandon- the budding youth minister- suffered a break due to his “involvement in a cult.” Tim was the cliche “fish out of water” as the only roommate from Hickville, Georgia- we didn’t understand him, and he didn’t understand us. He felt isolated and alone most of the year. Our drinking and “sinful” behavior didn’t help. Matt suffers one self-induced romantic failure after another. But, the worst was what happened to Clint and I. (Not to mention- the tragic death of our friend Steve in early November.)
In early 2003, in the midst of feeling like a complete loser, I dropped out of ministry school. I drank heavily and isolated myself from everyone who loved me. Brandon was too busy to notice, and Matt and Tim kept their distance. And Clint was kicked out of ministry school. Supposedly, he made out with a fellow student. She felt guilty and reported it to school leadership, who promptly dismissed Clint. What Clint experienced was typical of that ministry school, and he did not respond well. Despite all the bullshit Clint experienced, he was the one friend who wouldn’t go a day without checking in on me. He’d tell me I was loved and the had good things for me. He was my friend.
As the summer of 2003 arrived, everyone in the townhouse went in a different direction. I re-enrolled in ministry school to finish what I started. And Clint went down the rabbit hole. He never recovered from his dismissal and began to order painkillers from India online. By 2004, this man, who felt the presence of the Lord and was set free from addiction, was back to his old lifestyle. I remember the day he proclaimed he was no longer a Christian, evident by his barren bookshelves. The love of God had become a law to him too burdensome to carry. I get it. Life without the presence and love of the Father is horrible.
Over the following years, Clint became increasingly self-destructive and dishonest. He took advantage of people and was never far from a bottle of whiskey. He was a shadow of the man I met in 2001. The people in his life either served his selfish intentions or were expelled. All this because some ministers treated him like shit. (I don’t excuse the poor leadership or Clint’s terrible choices in the aftermath of his expulsion. Many people from that school experienced the same treatment, and most of us did not self-destruct.)
I think Clint knew the Lord but longed for affirmation and acceptance. This is a common problem among immature believers. And, without foundation in the Holy Spirit, the enemy uses suffering to drive a wedge between the Lord and us. That’s what happened to Clint. Eventually, Clint moved to Los Angeles, where he continued his pattern of self-sabotage. The last I heard from him, he tried to avoid jail time in Texas, claiming to be an addict. It’s true, but some jail time would probably do him good. I had to tell his parole officer to stop harassing me as I would get calls when Clint didn’t check-in.
Today, with tears on my cheeks, I lifted my old friend to the Lord. I don’t know why I thought of him as the music began, but I did. That bastard still means something to me, and I know the Lord loves him. My Father doesn’t care about Clint’s rejection or resentment. He’s got His arms wide open, patiently waiting for his son to come home. The goodness of God is without end.
Lord, touch my friend Clint. Flood his heart and mind with your love and kindness. Show him the eternal wave of grace over his life and destroy all chains on his life.
- Amen.
