Prayer had become a constant, mindful conversation for Roman. Mostly one-sided. After so many years of silence, Roman couldn’t stop talking inaudibly to the One who truly listened, the One who heard beyond the words to the motivations deeper than Roman himself could analyze.
Change me, Lord. Put a new heart in me. Make me the man You intend me to be.
Roman had stopped praying Grace would call or write or pass along a message through one of her friends, and begun praying God would watch over her and Samuel, provide for their needs, protect her, guide her, bless her. Oh, God, please keep her away from guys like me. She deserves so much better.
Brian put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay? You seem a little out of it today.”
“I’m more in it than I’ve ever been.”
He tacked the drawings up on the wall and studied them. He wasn’t using transfers this time. He’d use narrow-stream, gray spray paint for the outlines and assign areas for his crew to fill in. No ropes and harnesses, either. He’d keep everyone safe on two rented, rolling mechanical lifts.
Brian looked worried. “How much will that cost?”
“It’s on me. So are all the materials. Just got the call this afternoon that my house sold.”
He’d come alongside Brian with the youth group. They were a tough, motley crew, eager to get started, especially the ones who’d repented of tagging buildings. They were itching to get their hands on cans of spray paint and not have to worry about being busted by the cops. Roman didn’t miss the irony of his situation: the loner organizing a youth group project, the reformed-and-redeemed graffiti artist doing his work in the daylight for anyone to see, and on a church, of all places. God sure had a sense of humor.
Roman power-washed the wall and let the kids prep it with white paint. It was a daylong job with two lifts, gallons of white paint, and sprayers. The next Saturday, Roman got there early, intending to have all the sections drawn before the crew of teenagers arrived, but fifteen showed up hours before they were scheduled. Parents came and others he hadn’t seen in church.
“You couldn’t have picked a better day.” Brian lifted his chin at the clear, cool fall morning. The mechanical lifts were in place, along with the paint supplies.
Roman had a bad case of nerves. “Everyone’s early. I didn’t expect a crowd.”
“Yeah, well, nothing we can do about that. Everyone wants to see how you do what you do. Where are your drawings?”
Roman tapped his forehead. “It’s all right here, my friend.” He looked up at the massive canvas and envisioned the lines and shapes already burning into place. Might as well get started. Stepping into the lift, he pushed the button to raise the platform. Grabbing a can of gray spray paint from a box, he tried to block out everything but the vision God had given him. He shook the can, pressed the button, and made the first wide curve. A fountain of energy welled up inside him and began to overflow to those waiting to do their part.
Crew members sat and watched. After a few minutes, Roman forgot they were there. He worked for three hours straight, moving the machinery, emptying cans of paint. When he tossed the last can into the box and pushed the button to lower the lift, everyone erupted in cheers.
Realizing they were cheering for him, Roman went cold. “Stop! Listen to me!” When he had everyone’s attention, he pointed. “This wall is a testimony to the power of Jesus Christ. It’s all about Him. If you came to work, here’s what you’re going to do.” He gave out instructions, tossing cans of paint to each and telling them where to start and where to work. “Okay, crew. Let’s blast this wall for Jesus.”
An hour later, Brian and Roman stood across the street, watching. “Wow!” Brian shook his head, amazed. “It’ll be done before the day is over.”
“Not completely. Once the kids have everything filled in, I’ll do the finish details. Hector has a crew lined up to do the protective coat.” He saw one boy ready to move on to another section. “Hey, Bando!” Limping across the street, Roman pulled another color out of the supply box and showed him where to work next.
Cars passed by. A few drivers stopped to watch. The crowd grew. A patrol pulled over, and officers got out. Roman recognized one. His stomach dropped, and his pulse picked up speed. The cop headed straight for Roman.
“Are you in charge here?” The policeman who had caught the Bird doing his work in the tunnel looked at the wall.
“Yes, sir.”
“Impressive piece. Sort of in-your-face, don’t you think?”