Rejected.

He walked into my Denver office on a bright sunny day and though I wanted to look him in his eyes, I could only look at his forehead. He had the most fascinating and impressionable tattoo I’ve ever seen.

REJECTED. In bright red letters.

You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought.

We started talking and went through the routine questions on my case manager list. I asked him about his educational and experiential background. We talked about what kind of job he might be looking for and whether the felony on his record would be a barrier in that industry. He told me about his trouble with transportation from the halfway house and I gave him some resource lists.  And while we exchanged this information, all I could hear, see, feel and think about was

REJECTED.

My heart longed to know –

what or who made you feel so rejected that you chose to have the very word permanently marked on your forehead?

But instead I asked,

Do you have access to a computer lab [you know, for resume writing and job searching and stuff]?
and
do you need bus tokens?

I do remember acknowledging his tattoo, saying something like

Oh my. That’s quite a tattoo.  Where did you get that?

He told me he got it in prison.  He kind of laughed about it and showed me a couple of other tattoos he acquired there [including an explicit one on the back of his neck that described his feelings toward cops].

My 23 year old self didn’t know how to respond to this 30-something year old man.  And I’m not sure my 28 year old self would either. Yes, I have felt rejected.  I know what it feels like to feel snubbed or declined.  But not like this, no.  Not enough to permanently stamp it on my forehead as if I’m a package returned to my sender.  No, this kind of rejection is deep.  It is raw.  It is so painful that I can feel it in my gut just sitting next to this man.

He left my office with some bus tokens and a list of agencies and companies that hire people with a felony on their record.

And he left me with a bunch of burning questions.  He left me with a memory I will never forget.  He left me speechless.  And to this day I think of this man.  And I hope that somewhere someone is asking him

not
do you need bus tokens and what is your previous job experience? 

but rather
what happened?  what has caused you so much hurt?  do you have support around that?  what is your passion?  what do you long to do?

I hope that somewhere he hears [and believes]

Oh, my dear child, you are welcome here. You are loved. I adore you.

And I pray that someday [and someday soon], deep inside his soul he hears

you, my beloved, are stamped and marked with acceptance.