Every ship needs a good first mate. Mine showed up in a van outside the Jefferson County Jail, and his name was Brandon.
Brandon was my driver. Brandon was also the leader of my morning Bible study. Those two jobs have more in common than you’d think. Both involve getting a man from where he is to where he needs to be, and both work better if somebody brings coffee.
He’s the one who came and picked me up from jail. I want you to picture this. I had not seen the sun in forty-five days. I walked out squinting like a possum caught in a flashlight. And there was Brandon, grinning.
Brandon had the most infectious smile in the world. After forty-five days of concrete and fluorescent lights, that smile was a breath of fresh air. Honestly, it was brighter than the sun I’d been missing. The sun was a little jealous. I could tell by the clouds.
Now, you might think a man fresh out of jail would want to go straight to his destination. Not me. Not Brandon. Our first stop was Kentucky Fried Chicken.
If you’ve been following this log, you know about the bologna. You know about the cake that tasted like packing foam. You know about the hard-boiled egg I ate with the shell still on. So you can imagine what that first bite of fried chicken did to me. I believe I heard a choir. It may have been the Colonel himself, singing from glory.
Brandon also bought me a vape and a drink. I’m just trying to be honest here. This is a captain’s log, not a brochure.
Then he drove me to Montgomery Behavioral Health. We laughed the whole way there. I don’t remember every joke, but I remember my face hurting from smiling, which was a new kind of pain for me that summer, and a welcome one.
We became really good friends during my stay there. And that friendship was built on what I can only call the 5:30 Club.
Every morning at 5:30, we had Bible study. Yes, 5:30 in the morning. On purpose. Voluntarily. Some of you just spilled your coffee reading that, and I understand. I used to think 5:30 was a time that only existed for farmers, bakers, and people with poor life choices. Turns out it’s also when God does some of His best work.
Here was the routine. Every morning, we got up. We mopped the floor. We made coffee. We smoked. And then we read the Bible together.
I realize that’s an unusual order of worship. You won’t find it in any hymnal. But I’d put it up against a lot of church services I’ve attended. By the time we opened the Word, the floor was clean, the coffee was hot, and our hearts were ready.
There’s something about mopping a floor before Bible study. It humbles you. It’s hard to feel too important when you’ve got a mop in your hand. Jesus washed feet. We washed floors. Same department, different assignment, same Boss.
It was the best way to start the day, ever. I mean that. I’ve started days a lot of ways in my life. Some of them I’d rather not put in writing. None of them beat a clean floor, a hot cup of coffee, a good friend, and the Word of God before the sun came up.
And speaking of honesty, here’s some good news. I quit smoking at Montgomery Behavioral Health. Thank goodness. My lungs sent me a thank-you card. My wallet sent flowers.
Now here’s the less impressive news. I still haven’t given up the vape. Progress, not perfection, folks. I’m just trying to be honest. God isn’t finished with me yet, and apparently neither is the vape.
I share that because I promised this log would tell the truth, including the parts where I’m still a work in progress. If I only wrote about the victories, this would be a very short log, and you’d have no reason to trust it.
Back to Brandon. What made him special wasn’t just the rides or the Bible study. It was the way he showed up. Every morning, same time, same smile. Consistency is underrated. Anybody can be inspiring once. It takes a special kind of person to be inspiring at 5:30 every single morning.
I’ve written about the people God put in my path during this season. G, who showed me the ropes. Tish, who fed me. The counselors and nurses who took care of me. Brandon belongs on that list, right near the top. He was the first friendly face I saw on the other side of that jailhouse door.
There’s a story in the Gospels about two disciples walking the road to Emmaus. They were downcast and confused, and Jesus came alongside them. They didn’t recognize Him at first. But later they said, “Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way?”
That’s what the ride to Montgomery felt like. Not that Brandon was Jesus. Brandon would be the first to tell you that, probably while laughing. But Jesus was in that van. I’m sure of it. He was in the laughter, and in the chicken, and in the kindness of a man who didn’t have to be so kind.
I’ve thought about what makes a friendship stick. I think it’s shared routine. Anybody can be your friend for one big moment. A real friend mops the floor next to you at 5:30 in the morning, day after day, and doesn’t complain about it. Much.
Brandon, thank you. Thank you for picking me up. Thank you for the chicken, the drink, and yes, the vape, even if I’m still working through that one. Thank you for the laughs on the road. Thank you for every 5:30 morning. And thank you for that smile. You have no idea how much light it brought into a dark season.
If you’re reading this and you’ve got a friend like Brandon, call him today. Tell him what he means to you. And if you don’t have a friend like that, maybe God’s calling you to be one. Somebody out there is walking out of a dark place, squinting at the sun, hoping to see a friendly face.
Rise and shine, everybody. It’s 5:30 somewhere. Grab a mop, make some coffee, open the Book, and smile like Brandon. The day will go better. I promise. And if it doesn’t, there’s always Kentucky Fried Chicken.
“This is the day which the LORD hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”
Psalm 118:24 (KJV)
— JC
