Norman “Jack” Wright was never a client of mine, per se, but on one of my computer’s three hard drives in my Client’s Folders from between 2012 to 2014 exists a folder named “JACK-ALABAMA.” In memory of Jack, I’d like to make his story part of the great story of Christmas, and gift it to whomever takes time to read this piece.
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I hadn’t been living in Decatur, Alabama but maybe several months when one afternoon while my then-husband was at work, there came a knock on the side door under the carport of the house we were renting on Modaus Road. One of the first things I did when I re-located to the deep south for a second marriage (lasting February 2012 to December 2019) was to erect a large sign, hoping to draw in local customers and re-establish my business. On this sign, I welcomed “drop-ins.”
I went to the door and looked upon an older man who from initial outward appearances, frightened me. To my eye, and perhaps because I was so new to this “strange land, strange new state with strange new people” and culture-shocked in various ways, he had the immediate appearance of a homeless man, of sorts.
We lived on a busy road near an intersection and a gas station, and I think it was prior to this day, that one evening after dark some stranger had come to our door asking for money to buy gas. That time, my then-husband was home and talked to the man, and I recall he walked across the road to the gas station and paid for some gas. That knocking stranger had had some story, and I remember Joe warning me after that to be careful because at that intersection, others might try to look for nearby houses for such things.
So that afternoon, as I recall in my mind’s eye, when I came to the door and saw this man (who I came to know as Jack), I probably put my hand to the opener and slightly cracked the glass door to speak to him in some guarded way. The man seemed nervous, and I immediately felt uncomfortable at this stranger at the door. He began to speak and said something like, “I saw your sign about artwork and wanted to see what you do.”
The man didn’t appear (to me) to be the type of person likely to make purchases or commission something, and I felt afraid and didn’t know what to do. Actually, as I re-read/edit this and think back, more seems to be coming back to me. I’m not positive, but at some point I think he said, “I don’t mean to scare you. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I think it was clear to him that I was afraid of him.
As he spoke, I noticed his weathered, ragged face and that he seemed to be missing most of his teeth…I remember now in my mind’s eye…I think Jack had his eye teeth but the top front ones were all gone.
I asked this man, “What kind of art are you interested in?”
And then he replied, “Well, actually, I’m sort of an artist too. And I wanted to see your work.”
I was not sure what to do, so I proceeded to be polite and ask him, “What kind of works do you do and in what medium?”
The man replied, “Well, I mostly do pastel drawings and some pencil and charcoal.”
I must have continued to look him over carefully as we exchanged some chit-chat about art until I decided that I needed to trust Jesus (I’m not sure it was a consciously-formed thought, and I generally have a trusting nature and want to be open to that which God would have me to do in my daily life), having been convinced by the dialogue that at least this stranger knew a little something about art, so, maybe he had no ill-motives for knocking on the door.
So I invited him to come in, and took him into the dining room and part of the large living room that had been designated for me to do my business from. Jack began to look at my artwork samples and other pieces, and to express admiration of my work and converse. He stayed about 15-20 minutes and I gave him my business card and he wrote down his name and number.
In this first meeting, I’m sure he told me that he loved doing portraits and faces the most, and I had welcomed him to come back and bring some of his work. Likely that first meeting he explained to me that he had always had a knack and love for drawing and had wished he could have gone to art school. He said that he would appreciate if I’d look at his work and give him pointers.
Thus began the occasional and various interactions that I (and Joe, and my sons) had with Alabama Jack.
He did return, and brought his sketch pad and some things he was working on to show. When he returned next, it was at a time when Joe was home. When I saw Jack’s pastel portraits, I was amazed at his raw talent. With no formal training, he was showing me some very lovely pieces of art. To be brutally honest, I don’t think I was expecting to see very much in terms of quality. And that shows my own failure at sometimes pre-judging who someone might be, what they are about, or what they are capable of.
Jack was very open to sharing about his life, and especially, his past. He shared almost immediately that he was a Christian (I’m thinking that during that first afternoon, when he stepped into my art area, he may have seen something that led to this conversation), and that he was very involved in the Celebrate Recovery program at a Baptist Church in Decatur, AL.
During the times I interacted with Jack over several years, there are a few stories that stand out in my recollection. First, he had shared about his own difficult upbringing, and mentioned his relationship with his father in particular. He told about various previous life-struggles, including struggles of the mind. He and his brother, John, lived together.
Jack told me of his daughters and grandchildren, and of the deep pain he felt in the brokenness of those relationships. Jack told me, and Joe, about the tormenting, deeply-felt mistakes and failures of his past.
Jack told of how at one point he had pulled most of his own teeth out himself, because they had become quite bad and he couldn’t afford to go to the dentist. I kinda recall he said he drank a bottle of Jack Daniels and then just managed to pull them out with pliers. He said it wasn’t that hard, because they were already so loosened due to gum disease.
Jack would periodically come over when he was beginning a portrait–friends he knew through the Baptist Church sometimes would ask him to work on something–and I would scan the photo references and make very nice, quality prints for him to work from. We would talk about the work in different stages, and he seemed to enjoy and appreciate my input.
Below there are a couple of portraits that he signed “Mister Jack,” since that is what the children at church called him.
(Above) I forget, but I think this is either a portrait of his brother, or his father.
I wanted to encourage Jack in his art since it seemed to bring him joy, and I often thought what his life might have been like had he been born into other circumstances, or (as he might have said of himself) made different choices at points, or, been able to study art.
But, there he was…showing up every couple months or so and often telling me that he wished he could get a lot of portrait work (“like I do”) and earn money that way. He kept wanting to know how I got customers and what I charged (and what he should charge).
Since Jack had no computer nor any real way to build a business online (I told him that much of my work came from my website and online connections), and because of his overall life situation, I was really not certain how he could get more art commissions (from strangers) at that point in his life.
The best I could think to do was offer to make him some business cards, and print a bunch up for him and suggest that he leave them around, or give them to friends, word-of-mouth.
He had also asked me at one point how I made prints, and I showed him my equipment. He wanted me to scan two of his paintings (he mostly worked in pastel, but he did have a few paintings on canvas) and make a few prints. He always wanted to pay me, but if I accepted anything, it was nominal just to cover estimated cost of ink. He asked me to set them up with some scriptures on one piece (the mountain scene), and a statement he composed on the other (the tomatoes painting). The third piece was himself as a child on a swing I recall and he wanted me to hand-inscribe the verse on the artwork for him …and he wanted that printed on small cards, along with the outdoor scene, to share at Celebrate Recovery. I still have the scans in his file, and they are shown below.
During August 2013, my two sons came for a visit in Alabama.
When Jack had been visiting us, I would also tell him about my sons. He told me that when they come, I could bring them over to pick blackberries near where he lived. He also wanted to know if they might want to learn to “shoot a rifle” with him! He seemed to think that would be a good activity he could offer to do with them (“if” I, the “Mama” thought it was “ok!”). I smile to myself when I try to recall the gist of the conversation…I kinda think Jack felt like my sons could come visit Alabama and he could help “make huntin’ men” out of them or something!
While he (and perhaps Joe, too) seemed to think this would be a good experience for them, I suppose I kept thinking of A Christmas Story: “You’ll shoot your eye out, kid!”
I’ve always been worried about guns; even though my father hunted, I was sternly told to never, ever, touch even the draped cloth over his basement rack of hunting rifles. (As an adult, it makes me wonder if he kept one of them loaded, perhaps…but I think he just didn’t want me to think I might play around with them…ever…) So although I know that young men do learn to handle guns somehow, at the time, I just wasn’t so sure I wanted either of them to get introduced to that just then…“overprotective Mama” that I am!
Somehow that activity got crossed off the list of options that day, but I do have a few photos of my sons riding in the back of his truck through a field to where we got the blackberries. It is the only picture I have of Jack and it took me awhile tonight to finally locate these on my computer, even though my photos are generally sorted by years and download dates. There are just so many.
One of the last conversations I recall having with Jack was by phone; I was driving. I had not heard from him in quite awhile, and I don’t recall if I decided to check in on him or if he called me. After Joe and I moved to the house in Trinity, I mostly lost touch with Jack. But that afternoon I actually think he called, or I returned a call, and I remember he was quite depressed.
Jack suffered immensely from depression. In that phone call, I remember him telling me that he had finally got dentures. I believe some friends from the church had helped pay, but am unsure.
But sadly, he said they just didn’t fit right and he was in a lot of discomfort. He had had the remaining few teeth pulled and gone for what sounded like months before getting the new teeth, and then, he was so very discouraged. Not just at that, but at other things in his life and situation.
I remember feeling particularly bad for him, listening to him while driving, during that phone call. He often talked about how unworthy of God he felt, how pained he was at his failures and the estrangement from his daughters, how difficult everything always was financially (I remember his old, white truck), and a number of other things relating to his art and general feelings about not belonging, and about Celebrate Recovery.
I remember suggesting to him, as I often did, that he reach out to his Pastor or some of the men at the church there. I’m not sure how much Jack really reached out or shared, but I do know that the most constant weight and burden he seemed to not be able to shake seemed to relate to just how bad he felt about himself and the outcome of his life, and all his past failures.
It was sad, and one could listen, but one could not fix it. One could make small suggestions of something that “might” help, or speak as encouragingly as possible without giving false hopes or platitudes that things would get any better. But ultimately, Jack seemed to feel quite alone and be quite hurting. There were scars and soul-wounds that seemed to go so far back into his life that it was unknown to him any way forward past all the various damages–both that he had suffered and that he had inflicted–from earlier times in his life.
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During the very late summer/early fall of 2019, when I was in the midst of my very difficult divorce situation (having moved 800 miles from my northern home state for a 2nd marriage that had failed), I was in the parking lot of Publix grocery store, about to get into my heavily-laden-with-advertising-art van that I had brought to Alabama from Delaware over seven years earlier, when a man approached me and asked if I were Eileen.
He introduced himself to me as the Pastor from the Baptist Church in Decatur, and said that when he saw the vehicle, he knew it must be me. I can’t recall for sure, perhaps he was about to leave a note on the vehicle when I came out of the store, and I was approaching the van, rather than him approaching me.
At any rate, he said that he had known of me through his friend Jack Wright, who had attended his church. He told me that sadly, Jack had passed away earlier that year of advanced cancer, and that his brother had been wanting to track me down to see if I wanted Jack’s art supplies. The Pastor and I talked, and agreed it was a “God thing” that he happened to see my vehicle that day.
Jack’s brother was preparing to move out of the little house they had shared, and I was not going to be in Alabama for that much longer. The Pastor told me that John had some easels and paint and stuff and he didn’t want to throw them away, and felt that Jack would have wanted me to have them. I got the phone number and contacted his brother, and soon afterward went to the house.
He gave me a large, wooden easel and boxes of various pastels, acrylic paints, art dvd’s, some art books, Jack’s sketch diaries, and the original 16 x 20 canvas painting that I think was Jack’s favorite work (it is him on rocks outdoors, heavily laden with symbols of God and “Victory in Jesus” – set free – shown above with the bible verses). I sat on the Alabama porch with his brother (there are no porches like Alabama porches!) and we chatted for awhile. He told me some of his life stories, too, and I thanked him for the visit and for thinking of me, and that I would treasure the gift of Jack’s art and supplies.
I wrote Jack’s name on the back of the wooden easel and use it in my studio. (I have another identical easel given to me by Mrs. Russell Finley of Newark, Delaware which belonged to Russell, who was a portrait artist and a regular “fixture” for much of my adult life in their art supply/framing store…and I wrote his name also on the back of that easel.)
I eventually used up Jack’s leftover acrylic paints. I believe I likely have some of his brushes mixed in with my plethora. There were some items I may have passed along to some younger people (kinds of supplies I wouldn’t use). I keep the painting hanging in my office. I put the DVD’s in my drawer but haven’t watched them. I may have kept some of the art books, though I never read anymore.
And then, there were the sketch pads. Most of them were blank and honestly, I can’t recall what happened to them. I may have given those away, too. There weren’t many. But, there was one that I still had on a shelf out in the building shop and last week, I was scrounging around for any-and-all paper that I could burn in my woodstove in hopes of a successful log-catching.
I pulled this sketchbook opened and there was only one drawing in it. It is a visionary, pencil, self-portrait (I can only assume), that he did which is heavily-laden with spiritual symbols, and some accompanying words. He depicts himself with spike-in-hand, with the pierced hands of Jesus seeming to be giving him a crown of thorns to place on his own head. There appears to be a spilled bag of coins and his notes point to this element, which of course is a symbol of Judas’ betrayal of Christ. The distant cross and the depiction of Jesus indicates to me the RISEN Lord.
I am somewhat unclear of the action in this illustration. I see with my eyes a kind of gentle touch in the hands of Jesus, and the anguish (there even appears to be some blood dripping on the forehead) is on the man, whom again, I assume to be Jack. I interpret the entire image to be one of deep pain, remorse, and identification (as all believers must do) with our sin being that which crucified the Lord Jesus. I can’t tell for sure, but I wonder if the action Jack was trying to illustrate was Jesus trying to take away that thorny crown from him, and the spike. As though Jack was trying to receive the full freedom from condemnation and guilt that is available to all who put their faith in Christ, but often so eludes us all, to varying degrees.
I must wonder (and hope) that at the time when Jack drew this, that he might have been understanding that he didn’t have to suffer further with shame and guilt, nor wear the kind of thorny crown only Jesus was able to bear. That Jesus bore this on his behalf so that he could be set free from the power of sin and death, and to live forever both on earth and in the eternal kingdom of God, as His beloved child, through God’s grace and Jack’s personal reception of Christ’s finished work on the Cross, for him, and for all people.
I would especially be interested in anyone who reads this leaving a comment about what they see in this illustration. Perhaps others will see/interpret it differently or take it a bit further…
It is good and right that we experience the proper amount of sorrow for our sins, and that we walk in new life in Christ and true repentance. But I believe it is also God’s will that we deeply experience His love and gift of forgiveness, and His joy, with child-like faith and trust in the goodness of Father God.
For some, life’s wounds and various other conditions of being, may be so very deeply present, that there is not much breakthrough into any lasting sense of freedom, new life and joy in Christ, experientially in this life. I know that for many people, the sense of this exists. Yet, I feel that there should be some antidote to this. I believe that life is such a gift, with all its joys and sorrows, and that Jesus meant what He said:
I am the door. If anyone enters by me, he will be saved and will go in and out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.
~ John 10: 9-11 (ESV)
When we know someone that is so broken–whose life condition and situation seems almost beyond any instant or even long-term repair–we respond in a number of different ways. Sometimes, people just need to feel the presence of others and to have a friend or two…or more.
I ended up tearing out the drawing that Jack did from that sketch book and burning the remaining paper in my woodstove last week. Sometimes I wonder and imagine if the faithful saints in Christ who are with Him now are informed, (here-and-there up in heaven, by Jesus), about various happenings on earth…or about people…or are told by Jesus when someone fondly remembers them down here on earth.
As I tore the sheets out and into the fire, I could almost imagine Jack in his completely whole and healed condition saying something like, “Good….good…that’s a great use ‘fer that old, empty sketch book! Glad you found a use for it!”
And I thought to myself, “I really need to do a blog piece about Alabama Jack some day.”
And today, I decided to do it; I decided this would be my Christmas writing.
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I think Jack felt that his one, solitary life was quite small, quite without purpose, and quite broken. In fact, his obituary I pulled up online says very little about him and who I (and some others) knew him to be. It does mention the names of his daughters, and maybe I can send this piece to the Pastor at that church and post the picture of Jack on the obituary page. I don’t see that there is any photo of him there.
Jack seemed to think very poorly of himself. I wonder who remembers him now, and how he is remembered. I think Jack would have done anything, given anything he was capable of giving, to please Jesus and be used by God in his pained life. I don’t know who was with him when he died, nor whether there was any reconciliation possible concerning the various losses Jack carried within him. I can only hope so.
I don’t recall Jack’s specific testimony of how he came to Christ, but I’m certain it involved being brought very low and to the end of himself and hope, and crying out to God. Jack needed God’s forgiveness, as we all do, and more importantly beyond that, Jack needed God’s presence and inward healing and renewal, as we all do.
Jesus is Emmanuel, meaning, God with us. Maybe you have known Jesus for many years in your life, or maybe you have never known Him. He knows you, however, and He is waiting…standing at the door knocking…somewhat like Jack stood at the door of that Alabama house in 2012. He stands at the door knocking not only for us to receive eternal life, but for us to cling to Him in this life and to experience as much healing and joy and grace and fullness of life that our cups will hold.
Some of us have the kind of earthen vessel-cups that easily hold God’s goodness–indeed, our internal cup of joy runneth over–while others continue to struggle to receive all that God so desires and is so ready to give to us, and struggle with sorrow and sadness. I’m not so sure it is entirely a bad thing to know sorrows in life. Indeed the world is full of sorrows, inwardly and outwardly.
“And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.”
~Isaiah 65:24
How do we see Jesus, when we behold Him standing at our door, wanting to enter in?
Will we laugh in His face and slam the door saying, “No thanks…don’t want whatever it is You are trying to sell me today,” or, will we take a closer look at His most unusual, nail-scarred hands and holy eyes and face and pause…and at least ask a few more questions…or maybe…just maybe…welcome Him in?
This Christmas, may you discover who Jesus really is–our King, who is longing to call us friend.
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One Solitary Life
He was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman. He grew up in still another village, where He worked in a carpenter shop until He was 30. Then for three years He was an itinerant preacher. He never wrote a book. He never held an office. He never had a family or owned a house. He didn’t go to college. He never traveled more than 200 miles from the place He was born. He did none of the things one usually associates with greatness. He had no credentials but Himself. He was only 33 when public opinion turned against Him. His friends deserted Him. He was turned over to His enemies and went through the mockery of a trial. He was nailed to a cross between two thieves. When He was dying, His executioners gambled for His clothing, the only property He had.. . . on earth. When He was dead, He was laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend. Nineteen centuries have come and gone, and today He is the central figure of the human race, the leader of mankind’s progress. All the armies that ever marched, all the navies that ever sailed, all the parliaments that ever sat, all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have not affected the life of man on earth as much as that One Solitary Life. Do You Know Who He Is?
Dr James Allan Francis in “The Real Jesus and Other Sermons”
© 1926 by the Judson Press of Philadelphia (pp 123-124 titled “Arise Sir Knight!”).
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Isaiah 53 (NIV); written around 700 B.C.
1Who has believed our message
and to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?
2 He grew up before him like a tender shoot,
and like a root out of dry ground.
He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,
nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.
3 He was despised and rejected by mankind,
a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.
Like one from whom people hide their faces
he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.
4 Surely he took up our pain
and bore our suffering,
yet we considered him punished by God,
stricken by him, and afflicted.
5 But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
and by his wounds we are healed.
6 We all, like sheep, have gone astray,
each of us has turned to our own way;
and the Lord has laid on him
the iniquity of us all.
7 He was oppressed and afflicted,
yet he did not open his mouth;
he was led like a lamb to the slaughter,
and as a sheep before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth.
8 By oppression[a] and judgment he was taken away.
Yet who of his generation protested?
For he was cut off from the land of the living;
for the transgression of my people he was punished.[b]
9 He was assigned a grave with the wicked,
and with the rich in his death,
though he had done no violence,
nor was any deceit in his mouth.
10 Yet it was the Lord’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer,
and though the Lord makes[c] his life an offering for sin,
he will see his offspring and prolong his days,
and the will of the Lord will prosper in his hand.
11 After he has suffered,
he will see the light of life[d] and be satisfied[e];
by his knowledge[f] my righteous servant will justify many,
and he will bear their iniquities.
12 Therefore I will give him a portion among the great,[g]
and he will divide the spoils with the strong,[h]
because he poured out his life unto death,
and was numbered with the transgressors.
For he bore the sin of many,
and made intercession for the transgressors.
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