Church Boy

I held back a chuckle as he strolled in the store,
explaining God sent him to clean up our floor.
There was something about him, a confident air.
A magical grin and an eye-to-eye stare.

I was eighteen years old and working my way
through college stocking shelves at the local I.G.A.
I wished him good-luck at the manager’s door,
where I’d seen many salesmen get tossed out before.

He said, “Luck’s not involved if you know how to pray.”
I knew he was right, but had started to stray.
I was working the graveyard shift two nights a week,
it wasn’t the place for the mild or the meek.

Some crusty old timers worked that time of night.
Like a school of piranha just waiting to bite.
Quite a few characters, if you know what I mean.
They’d ride on the edge of bad taste and obscene.

On his very first night, the word quickly spread,
they nicknamed him Church-Boy, from what I had said.
I prayed he was ready for the wolves to attack.
I watched his reactions, He didn’t step back.

He boldly responded, “Do you know the Lord?”
Deflecting each comment like wielding a sword.
He didn’t get into an argumentative stage.
He seemed void of hatred, of anger, or rage.

I admired his courage and passionate desire.
I admired his conviction, his faith, and his fire.
Halfway through the shift, he entered my aisle.
He brought me some coffee and talked for a while.

“I noticed you didn’t join in with the rest.
The bashing of Church-Boy the Biblical pest.”
“I’m sorry” I said, “I spoke your belief.
I didn’t expect them to give you such grief.”

He smiled and said, “No, you did the right thing.
You opened the door to the message I bring.”
“What message is that?” Though I already knew.
He said, “God sent His Son for me and for you!”

A bond was established, a friendship was born.
He helped me stay strong and not to conform.
He kept up his message, stayed true to his walk.
There were so many times that I needed that talk.

Now twenty-five years since those grocery store days,
I still can recall one particular phrase.
“You can mock me, hate me, or say I’m uncouth,
but, the fact still remains, I’m telling the truth.”

He still spreads the Word on those overnight shifts.
He shares his great faith, that’s one of his gifts.
Like a personal Angel sent to give me a hand.
Thanks, my friend “Church-Boy,” for taking a stand.