Mareesee's Manor

Hey mister, I don’t know who mister is exactly, but I always seem to write better if I think I’m speaking to someone besides myself. If I were just speaking to myself, I could just have the conversation in my head. Somehow, documenting the conversation makes me more accountable to what I have convicted myself to feel within the conversation. Also, it helps me to remember what the conversation entailed, because my memory is lousy. It’s funny, well, not really funny, it’s actually pretty annoying, but I could be reading a book and think it has some pretty amazing remarks that change my life for the better, and someone could ask me what the book is, who wrote it, and what it’s about, and I would hardly be able to answer the questions, because I have a hard time remembering specifics. However, the book still changes me, so all is not lost, and with a book, I can just recommend it to someone else, and even buy it for them, and they can experience it for themselves. I wish I could do the same with my own convictions, like with explaining where they come from, but it is made up of such a smorgasbord of events, people, conversations with God, and so much more, that it makes it almost impossible for me to defend how I feel or what I think without sounding like a babbling idiot. (Case in point, the run-on sentence that the green grammar squiggly line is telling me I just wrote.) I’m writing at 4 in the morning, and I am exhausted. I can’t sleep. I need to be sleeping. I have an incredibly busy day tomorrow. Also, finals, work, rehearsal, plus the rest of the “Angels” run, and a few extra projects are going to keep me running full steam all this weekend and all next week as well. I have been changed. I don’t know what’s going to come of it, but God hasn’t told me one time that it will be comfortable. That doesn’t make me very comfortable. He promises comfort and peace, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. I stopped by Jeannine House today, a house for homeless women and children, to see if my services were needed. I was welcomed with open arms. I did not want to go, it would have been easier to sit on my butt at the coffee house and think about how nice it would be to help out sometime, you know, when I found myself with some free time. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with frustration at myself, and got up to ask directions to this house. It was very easy to find, and everyone was extremely kind. It felt good to actually take action. They told me, at Jeannine House, about a garden they have a few blocks down, that takes up about three lots. I surveyed the garden, and realized that it was one of the saddest looking things I’ve seen, which means it has a lot of potential, kind of like a lot of sad people I see. I realized I would have my work cut out for me, but it was possible. I decided to survey the neighborhood considering I had never even seen that part of Saginaw before. I’ve heard a lot about the East Side, near the hospital. It’s on the news at least a few times a week. I drove a few blocks down from the garden, and pulled over when I saw The House. It was an old abandoned house, clearly trashed, with a phone number and a price spray painted on the front in bright red “$3000 or Best”. The house is huge. It looks like there might be at least three apartments inside with a small yard outside. Every single window was broken, and graffiti and trash were everywhere. I have not felt as alive as I felt, as I was surveying that house, in a very long time. Something stirred inside my bones. I began to pray. “Is this it, Lord? Is this what you want me to do? Ah, man, I wouldn’t even know where to begin….” My prayer was interrupted by a shout from across the street. “You fixin’ to buy that house?” I turned around to see a girl of about twelve years old, standing near a couple of boys who looked about eight or so. “I don’t know” I said hesitantly, “It looks like it would take an awful lot of work to clean and fix it up.” “It’s a big house.” She said. “Yeah…would you help me clean it up if I bought it?” “Yeah, I’d help you clean it.” “You would?” I turned back to the house and let out a sigh. Suddenly one of the boys chimed in, “give me some money and I’ll help you.” I just laughed and began to walk back to my jeep. Just as I was reaching for the handle the girl spoke up, “You don’t have to give me no money… I’ll help you.” In that moment, I knew why I have to buy that house. I asked the girl her name. I had her repeat it twice and still don’t think I have it right, but it was something like Marissa, but a bit different, pronounced like Mareesee, or close to that. Well, if God intends for that house to be fixed up and used as a hub for the kids and people of that community, at least I know I already have a name for it. Mareesee Manor. I need to go to bed. I have to get up in two hours, and I will be going all day until after midnight. It looks like Sunday through Saturday of next week is about the same schedule. I looked up at God a minute ago and asked Him why He chose this week to show me this neighborhood. He told me that this is the week I finally got off my butt and went there, He’s had it on my heart for a while. The more I think about it, the more I realize that the timing couldn’t be better. It gives me four months of mediocre to above-average weather to work with. I am scared to death. I can’t get this house out of my head, or the garden. I cannot save Saginaw. I cannot even save myself. God is going to do what He’s going to do, with or without me. It’s time for me to get on board. It’s time to sell everything I have and follow Him. I knew this was coming. I know my life is about to change. It’s going to get harder, but it’s going to be what it’s intended to be, not what I would have it be. In the words of Rage Against the Machine in their song Guerilla Radio, "It has to start somewhere. It has to start sometime. What better place than here. What better time than now."