Bulldog all cleaned up in his navy hat
After the offer, the man’s disconcerting countenance eclipses. He begins to weep profusely. As Bulldog grabs my hand and places it on his chest, words of life gush from my lips. I bawl at the top of my lungs. I reassure him that he is going to make it. I also exclaim that he will live and not die. I can’t even fathom the words whisking from his mouth. The tears are flooding from his sweaty face. Fearing that we are causing a scene on the streets, I stand good on my offer. Bulldog finally gets his ride.
I will never forget this day. After his wailing subsides, I finally discover the cause for the exhilaration. He recalls the story. See Bulldog held a twelve gauge shotgun to his head minutes before I met him. He was beaten half-to-death the night before in a drug deal gone wrong. He felt like his life was no longer worth living. Bulldog called his mother. He told her that his brains would splatter against the wall of the motel. “It was over,” he tells me in the car with tears flowing from his eyes. “I was going to have one last smoke though before I did it.” Little did I know, Bulldog’s mother had told him to turn to Jesus for help. He informed her of the beating with the aluminum bat the night prior. He was in pain. “And Jesus doesn’t even love me enough to give me a ride to the hospital,” he says as the profuse weeping restarts while we progress down the street. Bulldog shouts, “Jesus sent you sir to save my life! There is a reason for me to live! You are my ride! You are my ride!” I sit in awe even to this day.
Bulldog is beside himself. So am I. I cry with him for an hour. He wants his wounds checked out by a physician. When we arrive at the hospital, he exclaims, “Take me home, the pain is gone.” Sure enough his injuries leave. Where they go, I’ll never know. But I am certain that joy replaces sorrow. Acceptance replaces rejection. Faith replaces fear. Love takes the place of hate. A miracle takes place.
Yes there is a reason for Bulldog's existence. He cleans up. Opportunities for advancement come his way. Starvation is gone. Self-pride is evident. He no longer lives under the bridge. He is looking for a job. I am helping. We are close friends now. Weekly prayer and Scripture study is customary. He is working with the ministry. Bulldog extends the love that he miraculously found to others. He is building community, one soul at a time.
His story is surreal but not exclusive. My ministry is special. Bulldog is just one example of that fact. I am the senior pastor of CMC. The Coat of Many Colors possesses a distinctive ability. We communicate unconditional love and purpose to the hurting people in the Chattanooga area and around the world. The ministry daily reaches out to the less- fortunate. We circulate hot meals, clothes, and loving faces. Community is being fashioned. 
Our past possesses an international flavor. 55 churches and thousands of lives have been erected in the Amazon Basin of Brazil. But CMC makes daily decisions to concentrate on the unfortunate in our own backyard. The ministry is currently in negotiations with the Hamilton County School Board in Chattanooga. We want to purchase an old school located in a run- down community in the inner cities. The name of the school will be the CMC Dream Center. Men, women, boys, and girls will have a place to come for food, shelter, acceptance, and love. A boutique 
for single mothers to have their hair and nails done is also in the plans; prayerfully, self-esteem increases. Someone will always be there to listen.
Our past is bright. The future looks even brighter. The Coat of Many Colors seeks to build community through synchronous communication, one soul at a time. I am fortunate to be the leader of this amazing organization. CMC makes a difference.
Prayerfully, I will meet another “Bulldog” tomorrow. You never know what will happen. But I do know one thing for sure. I am grateful to be a part.
