Waiting in front of a dope house on a hot Houston afternoon, Frank Medders had been gone for twenty-five days now. Leaving his two sons with their grandmother, as he continued down a path that had become very familiar during his 15-year addiction to crack-cocaine. While waiting to score, he raised his head to examine the surroundings. He could see a school across the street. Not just any school, but the school where his oldest son attended. Other parents were lining up to pick up their children but Frank was waiting outside of his connection buying dope. His son had stopped expecting to see his dad picking him up long ago.
The school bell rang and soon children poured into the schoolyard. The potent reality of the moment set off a whirlwind of emotions that could no longer be ignored. The driver door flung open and Frank bolted out of his vehicle into the street and ran. A sprinting, six-foot, four-inch white man with quite a stride is an unusual sight for a quiet neighborhood street. He wasn’t even sure why he was running or what he was running from but he just ran. Maybe he was ashamed at the man he had become, a deadbeat dad, a thief, and a crack head. Maybe he hoped to out run the misery and despair that had become his life. He ran with the desperation of one fleeing danger until he could run no longer. Collapsing under a tree in the middle of a sprawling urban district sat a man who had been defeated by crack-cocaine. Like Elijah fleeing the wrath of Jezebel under the disappearing shade of the juniper tree, Frank was running from a different spirit. Broken, ashamed and defeated Frank wept. He wept bitterly and painfully over his condition. He needs to change and he wants to change but doesn’t know how.
Fortunately for Frank, his story has a happy ending. He was later picked up by the police and taken to Harris County Jail. FULL ARTICLE
