The way we were practicing our new faith must have seemed very unorthodox to others. We continued to meet at the little log cabin in Oakton, Va. Another large group of young people held standing-room-only meetings on Saturday nights in the basement of Truro Episcopal Church in Fairfax, Va. Young Life groups were thriving in local high schools, with dozens of enthusiastic kids meeting weekly in homes in the Washington, DC, area. Many of the Jesus people kept their long hair, beards, and hippy clothes. And we sang new worship songs that weren’t in church hymnals.
For us personally, things continued to be very tight financially. I knew I shouldn’t continue with the head shop. But I had made a commitment to my partner, and I had taken a loan to buy the inventory of merchandise we were selling. I was between a rock and a hard place.
Finally, one morning I decided to fast and pray for the day to see if I could get some clear direction from God.
For the first time since I had opened the head shop, my dad came to the store. It was closing time and no one was in the shop but the two of us. He walked over to me and said, “You know what I think you ought to do?”
Prior to his visit I had read some verses in Proverbs that talked about a wise son making his father glad, so I told my dad to stop and think about what he was going to say, because whatever it was, I was going to do it.
He stood in front of me across the counter and said, “You should sell this shop, or give your share to your partner, get yourself a 9-to-5 job, and enjoy your family.”
That made perfect sense. I told him I’d do it. But then he said, “And you know what else? I think you should cut your hair, shave your beard, and take a good look at yourself in the mirror.”
Well, it seemed the first part was clearly from God. But the part about cutting my hair and shaving my beard… where’d that come from? I didn’t say anything. He said good night and left.
The next morning I got up, went straight to the barbershop and had my hair cut and my beard shaved off. Then I went home, put on a tie, and headed out to the Fairfax County courthouse.
The reason for the trip to the courthouse? We had taken in a couple of young men that needed some help. One was on heroin, the other was in trouble with the law. I was at the courthouse to lend a little emotional support to the one who had been caught stealing a car.
We waited in the courthouse hallway for the judge and prosecuting attorney to arrive. Eventually the judge marched down the hall red-faced and complaining about the prosecutor being late. We were instructed to enter the courtroom.
I watched from the pews behind the attorneys and plaintiffs. My friend, along with two other boys who had been caught stealing the car, sat at a table before the bench.
The judge asked the first boy which adults in the courtroom were his parents, and the boy said something like, “My parents aren’t on trial.” The frustrated the judge got more angry.
The judge asked the second boy about his parents, and they got into a shouting match, so the judge announced a one-year sentence for both boys and had them escorted out of the room.
He turned to my friend’s attorney, who was sitting next to the boy at the table, and asked if he had anything to say on the his behalf. He stood up and said, “No, your honor.” Then he sat down. A second or two later, he stood back up and said, “Your honor, I have a character witness I would like to call,” and to my surprise, he turned and pointed at me.
The judge told me to come forward and sit next to him in the witness stand, so I did. I was told to swear to the truth with my hand on a Bible. And then the judge asked me who I was, how I was related to the boy, and what I did for a living.
I gave my name and said that the boy was living with me and I was trying to help him find some new friends and get a fresh start in life… and then I said, “I own the head shop in McLean.”
The judge turned to me and said, “What’s that?” And I explained what I did.
For some strange reason, knowing who I was and what I did for a living, the judge put the boy in my custody, and only gave him probation. I was stunned, but very thankful.
On my way home, I stopped by my father’s house. As I pulled into the driveway, he was coming out the door with two large trashbags to put in his can. I got out of my car and started walking toward him. It had been so long since he’d seen me in clean-shaven and wearing a tie, if it weren’t for my car, I’m not sure he would have recognized me. He dropped the bags and shook my hand, with a tear running down his cheek.
I guess what was beginning to happen on my inside was starting to show on the outside.
He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers…
- Malachi 4:6
