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 would think. Both involve getting a man from where he is to where he needs to be, and both go better if somebody brings coffee.
He was the one who picked me up from jail. Picture it. I had not seen the sun in forty-five days. I walked out squinting like a possum caught in a flashlight, holding my belongings in a bag, blinking at the sky as if it owed me money. And there was Brandon, grinning.
Brandon had the most infectious smile in the world. After forty-five days of concrete and fluorescent lights, it was a breath of fresh air. It was honestly brighter than the sun I had been missing. The sun seemed a little jealous. I could tell by the clouds.
You might think a man fresh out of jail would want to go straight to his destination. Not me, and not Brandon. Our first stop was Kentucky Fried Chicken. If you have been following this log, you know about the bologna, the cake that tasted like packing foam, and the egg I ate shell and all. 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 in a white suit.
Brandon also bought me a vape and a drink. I am just being honest here. This is a captain’s log, not a brochure.
Then he drove me to Montgomery Behavioral Health. We laughed the whole way. I do not 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. Most of my pain that year had been less cheerful.
We became good friends during my stay there, and the 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 believe 5:30 a.m. existed only for farmers, bakers, and people with poor life choices. As a man with extensive credentials in the third category, I can report that it is also when God does some of His best work.
The routine went like this. We got up. We mopped the floor. We made coffee. We smoked. Then we read the Bible together. I realize that is an unusual order of worship. You will not find it in any hymnal. But I would put it up against a lot of church services I have attended. By the time we opened the Word, the floor was clean, the coffee was hot, and our hearts were ready.
There is something about mopping a floor before Bible study. It humbles you. It is hard to feel too important with a mop in your hand. Jesus washed feet. We washed floors. Same department, different assignment, same Boss.
It was the best way to start a day, ever. I have started days a great many ways in my life. Some of them I would rather not put in writing, and my lawyer agrees. None of them beat a clean floor, a hot cup of coffee, a good friend, and the Word of God before sunrise.
Speaking of honesty, here is some good news. I quit smoking at Montgomery Behavioral Health. Thank goodness. My lungs sent a thank-you card. My wallet sent flowers. Here is the less impressive news. I had not yet given up the vape. Progress, not perfection, folks. God was not finished with me yet, and apparently neither was the vape. That situation would develop further, as you will read later, with the involvement of the authorities.
I share that because I promised this log would tell the truth, including the parts where I am still a work in progress. If I only wrote about my victories, this would be a very short log, possibly a postcard, and you would have no reason to trust it.
Back to Brandon. What made him special was not 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 a.m. every single morning, before the coffee has done anything.
There is a story in the Gospels about two disciples walking the road to Emmaus, downcast and confused. Jesus came alongside them, and they did not recognize Him at first. Later they said, Did not our heart burn within us while He talked with us by the way? That is 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 am sure of it. He was in the laughter, and in the chicken, and in the kindness of a man who did not have to be that kind.
I have thought about what makes a friendship stick. I think it is shared routine. Anybody can be your friend for one big moment. A real friend mops the floor beside you at 5:30 in the morning, day after day, and does not complain about it. Much.
Brandon, thank you. For picking me up. For the chicken, the drink, and yes, the vape, though that one has a complicated legacy. For the laughs on the road. For every 5:30 morning. And for that smile. You have no idea how much light it brought into a dark season.
If you have a friend like Brandon, call him today and tell him what he means to you. If you do not, maybe God is calling you to be one. Somebody out there is walking out of a dark place right now, squinting at the sun, hoping to see a friendly face. Rise and shine. It is 5:30 somewhere. Grab a mop, make some coffee, open the Book, and smile like Brandon. And if the day still goes badly, there is 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
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