Officer Gideon

Is God calling you to do something REALLY different right now? Are you watching to see how that calling unfolds in your life? Consider that in every Gospel account, Jesus tells us to watch, be ready and act: Matthew 25 - Jesus tells the parable of the ten women who watched for the bridegroom. Mark 13 - Jesus calls us to watch and be ready for the return of the master of the house. Luke 12 - Jesus tells us to be dressed, ready for service. John 1 - Jesus calls of the first disciples who were all watching and ready to go into action. As followers of Christ, we can be called to service at any time, and that call can dramatically change the course of our lives. For the Aspland family, 2003 proved to be a course changer for everyone.

In March 2003, I was a police lieutenant assigned to the Chief’s staff in Santa Barbara. I represented the Department at community functions, served as the Public Information Officer to the press and managed day watch officers. I met with the Chief almost daily and one afternoon, he asked me what I wanted to do before I retired. I told him I wanted to be a Chief of Police.

I went to work the next morning and in my mailbox was a job flyer for a Deputy Police Chief position in Monterey, California. The Chief attached a note that read, “I’m not trying to get rid of you, but you should really consider this.”

What? Leave Santa Barbara? Move the family? Lateral to another department? This was not something I had ever considered. Police officers moved to different departments but not police lieutenants. This was a big deal.

I walked to the Chief’s office and he told me that if I wanted to be a police chief, I needed to move up. He said that there would not be an opening in Santa Barbara for at least five years and I was ready for a command position now. I was humbled at his confidence in me and distracted all day as I considered what could be. I drove home that evening and said a pray somewhere between Santa Barbara and Oxnard. I was very specific, “God, if you want me to pursue this, Margie will say to go for it.” I arrived home and after things got settled, I showed Margie the announcement. The first words out of her mouth,”Go for it.”

Wait a minute. Did she just say that? Now I read carefully through the announcement. I met all of the qualifications except one. Applicants were required to have 18 months of management experience. I had 13.

The next morning as I drove to work, I had another talk with God. “Ok God. If you want me to do this, the 18 months experience won't matter.” I arrived at work and walked into the Chief’s office with the announcement in hand. “Sir, I talked this over with Margie and she said to go for it but the job announcement required 18 months of management experience and I only have 13.” The Chief’s response, “That won’t matter.”

Are you kidding? Should I really be surprised? He immediately picked up the telephone and called the Police Chief in Monterey. One week later, Margie and I drove up to Monterey to meet him. A few months after that, I was competing against 18 other candidates for the position. In August, I interviewed as one of two finalists. I got offered the job that afternoon. On September 29, 2003, I was sworn in as the new Deputy Police Chief for the City of Monterey.

There is no doubt in my mind that God called us to Monterey. I did not have to watch for the signs; the Lord put them right in front of me. The story of Gideon in Judges 6 tells about how one man listened to God’s call, watched (and asked) for signs and then beat back an army of thousands with only 300 men. I was given a much smaller glimpse of how God works through us when we watch, trust and act. What is God calling you to do today?

Speeders

In Matthew 5: 14-15, Jesus calls us to be the light of the world. At work, we accomplish this by doing the best job we can, recognizing that our faith shines in our performance. Our willingness to bring our best creates opportunities to share the hope within us that surpasses all understanding. In this story, what started as a citizen complaint about speeders became the foundation for a friendship and a reconnection to Christian fellowship.

In my role as a police executive, I am called on to meet with community leaders to talk about criminal activity, public safety and community policing. In 2004, the police chief asked me to meet with a neighborhood association president to talk about traffic safety concerns. This particular neighborhood president had a very “persuasive” personality and was rather persistent when he wanted to discuss important issues impacting his neighborhood. President Bruce (no connection to the shark but he is an attorney and an accountant) and I met at a local café to have a cup of coffee and talk about the issues.

Bruce got right to the point about traffic safety in his neighborhood. He had detailed statistics on traffic accidents and citations. He presented his own analysis of all the data. I offered my insights from a police perspective explaining the difference between perception and actual safety issues. We discussed the concerns and ended the meeting understanding the level of service the police could provide. I gave him a business card and told him to contact me directly when he had issues to discuss.

Bruce took me up on my offer, and over the next three years, I would get an e-mail request or telephone call for a meeting every three months or so. The café where we first met became our conference room. As time passed, we began to get to know each other. We talked about our families, our life experiences and how we viewed the world. A professional relationship became a friendship. We joked about this because I figured that since he was going to keep bugging me for meetings, we might as well be friends!

In 2007, near the end of summer, Bruce and I got together for our quarterly update. I don’t remember what the public safety issue of the day was, but toward the end of our meeting, Bruce said that he had something personal and important to ask me. His tone and manner were very serious. This dialogue was very different than any of the previous meetings.

He began by complimenting me on being a “man of faith.” He then shared that he wanted to get reconnected to his faith and he asked me for advice on the best way to do it. I did not expect that question. Over the years, I told Bruce that I was a Christian and went to church. It was more informational than anything. I am not one to push what I believe, but I make no secret that I am a follower of Christ. Bruce saw something different in me and trusted me with where he was in his spiritual journey.

Here is the best part. I was leading a weekly bible study at lunch and looking for people to join the group. This gathering of men was for the the purpose of checking in with one another over a meal and to discuss a passage of scripture. I told Bruce about the group and invited him to participate. He agreed. We continue to meet every week and Bruce is one of the most consistent members. For Bruce, it started with a complaint about speeding cars, the persistence of a lawyer and a willingness to ask for advice. For me, I showed up to the coffee meetings and God took care of the rest!

The Courthouse

1 Peter 3:15 “But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect”

It is amazing to me how God works through events and circumstances. If we are open to His call, we can be present at amazing moments of faith. They won’t be reported in the news or in church bulletins, but these moments are so significant that they change lives forever.

In 1994, I began teaching Introduction to Criminal Justice at Westmont College in Santa Barbara. This was a very cool opportunity as I graduated from Westmont in 1986. Since my expertise was in policing, I made it a practice of asking friends from other criminal justice disciplines to share their perspectives with my students. Class started at six in the evening and I would meet guest speakers at a local restaurant to share a meal before we headed to campus. I had no idea that one particular dinner would lead to a life changing moment. I would experience how God works through us to share his grace and peace.

Greg was an attorney working for the county prosecutor’s office. I met Greg when I appeared in court as the investigating officer for a misdemeanor, criminal case. Greg was new to the office and, after working with him, I felt he would be a great fit for the class. When the time came to talk about the court system, Greg agreed to speak and I agreed to buy diner. We met at Peabody’s Bar and Grill and the meal went as it usually did. We talked about family, careers and mapped out the presentation he would give in class. Greg asked me about Westmont College and I told him that the school was a Christian college and I was a graduate.

The conversation took a very different direction when Greg began to ask questions about the spiritual realm. Good and evil, angels and demons. The dialogue ranged all over the subject. After a time, Greg shared with me a personal experience he had with the spiritual world. He was trying to make sense of it. The conversation gave me an opportunity to share about what the Bible said in the context of Greg’s experience. I was also able to share a few significant moments in my life related to the spiritual encounters. I talked about how we are under the protection of the Holy Spirit through Christ’s death on the cross. It was a great conversation and shortly after that we headed up to campus. Greg did a fantastic job with the class and I looked forward to having him back a second time.

A few days later, I was back at work on patrol. As I was driving my police car past the courthouse, I saw Greg walk out of the building. I pulled to the curb to thank him again for speaking.

Greg and I spoke very briefly when Greg said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“I want to become a Christian and I don’t know how to do it.”

It was not the question I was expecting. In fact, nothing like this had ever happened to me before.

So here was the situation: I was sitting in a police car. Greg was standing on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse asking me how to accept Jesus into his life. What to do?

I picked up the radio and requested a lunch break. My request was approved (as if there was any doubt). I parked my car and we walked to a garden area on a quiet corner of the courthouse grounds. To anyone who walked by, it appeared that a police officer and an attorney were discussing a criminal case. There was so much more going on in that moment. I prayed with Greg, shook his hand and went on with the day. I was humbled that God would work through me and it all started with an invitation to speak to a college class on criminal justice.

When Grace Shines Though

Ephesians 2: 8-9 says, “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.” There is peace that surpasses all understanding in this verse. I remember a moment as a police officer when my understanding of grace became very clear when I arrested an alcoholic, transient named Toby. 

It is a tragedy that the criminal justice system is the only answer for some addicted to drugs and alcohol. These people are so driven by their addiction that they neglect even their basic needs. These people wind up on the street and the only time they receive help is after they are locked up in jail. Jail becomes a place to sober up, get fed and receive medical treatment.

In Santa Barbara, I knew these people too well. I wrote them citations for possessing open containers of alcohol in public, aggressively panhandling and trespassing on private property. I took them to jail when they were drunk in public and when they had arrest warrants for failing to appear in court. It was a revolving door. They would not choose to help themselves and the only thing to do was to arrest them. I was the last stop.

One afternoon, I got assigned a 911 call for a man passed out in a flower planter off of State Street across from a high end, shopping center. The planter was part of a walkway that brought people from downtown to a parking garage one block away. Based on the description over the radio, I figured that it was one of the many transients I dealt with on a daily basis. I had done this hundreds of times before, but this encounter would turn out to be more of a God story than a Cop story.

I parked my police car in the garage and headed toward State Street. As I started down the sidewalk, I could see a very dirty man lying on his side, passed out in a planter. I knew the man by sight. It was Toby. If police gave out frequent flyer miles for arrests, he would be a platinum member. Toby was an alcoholic and lived on the street. I had arrested him so many times that I knew his full name and birthday by heart. Toby lived for one thing: alcohol. Nothing else mattered to him. His existence revolved around how to get to his next drink.

It was no wonder someone called the police. He was filthy. He had not bathed for weeks and was wearing the same dirt encrusted clothes he had worn for months. I remember his fingernails being so dirty they looked like a bad nail polish job. He passed out in direct sunlight. Great for flowers but not for Toby. He was dripping with sweat. His hair was matted to his head. I could smell him long before I walked up to him. I suspect that only his level of inebriation prevented him from being overwhelmed by his own odor.

Toby found a way to hit rock bottom and start digging. There was nothing I could do for him except arrest him and take him to jail. I knew that once at jail, his clothes would be put in a plastic, garbage bag; unwashed and reeking of body odor, vomit and filth. They would be returned to him in the same condition after he sobered up. He would get a sack lunch and released back to the street to walk the 5 miles back to State Street. I had no doubt that within the week I would be repeating the process of arresting and booking Toby.

I stood over Toby and looked at him. There was no lecturing, debate or discussion that would make any difference or cause him to get on the wagon. There was no one around; just Toby lying in the planter and me standing on the sidewalk. I took out my handcuffs and before I arrested him I said, “Toby, I sure hope you know Jesus.”

Toby looked up at me, raised his hand, pointed to the sky and with a thick slur said, “Jesus is my Lord, man”

In that moment, I understood that the total depravity of man meant nothing against the amazing grace of God. I would not be able to do anything for Toby. My only hope was that at least Toby understood that God loved him no matter what. I also understood that I needed grace as much as Toby.

A Calling - The White Stone

What is your calling? 

Consider this verse from Revelations 2: “Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To the one who is victorious, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give that person a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to the one who receives it.” 

George Macdonald, a man who had a significant influence in the life of C.S. Lewis, wrote about this passage.“The giving of the white stone with the new name is the communication of what God thinks about the man to the man…The true name is one which expresses the character, the nature, the meaning of the person who bears it. It is man’s own symbol – his soul’s picture, in a word – the sign which belongs to him and no one else.” George Macdonald: An Anthology by C.S. Lewis

I think the giving of the white stone is our calling. This story is about my call to be a police officer.

I was a sophomore at Westmont College in the Spring of 1984. It was my first semester at Westmont and I was in the midst of trying to figure out what I was going to do as a career. I was a business major but did not connect with the course work. I wanted to serve others but I was at a loss trying to discover how my desire to connect with people translated to a job. This would all change in the gym at Westmont in one moment.

A theologian, Dr. Francis Schaefer, was on campus giving a series of lectures. The significance of his appearance was that he was suffering from cancer and this was likely one of his last public appearances. It turned out that he would pass away a few months later. I was curious to hear what Dr. Schaefer had to say and decided to attend his evening lecture in the college gymnasium. This was out of character for me as I was more interested in hanging out than engaging in academic life.

I was surprised to find the gym packed. The stadium bleachers were pulled out on both sides and the basketball court was filled with chairs. I took a seat on the home side of the bleachers. I remember looking out over the crowd and saw Dr. Schaefer was seated on stage. He was accompanied by his son Frankie Schaefer Jr. and it was Frankie who facilitated the lecture. It was during Frankie's comments that a defining moment happened.

Frankie was talking about living a life of faith. In the midst of his comments he said: “What we need in the United States today are more Christian police officers.”

His words rang out to me so clearly. In that moment, I knew where God was leading me. I was called. I began my journey as a police officer in 1988. June will mark 24 years in law enforcement. It was my white stone.

Lost and Found

In the Book of Luke, Chapter 15, Jesus tells a series of parables that describe the great lengths people will go to find something lost and the joy that follows when they do. He talks about a shepherd leaving a flock of ninety-nine to find a single sheep and a father who welcomes home a prodigal son after squandering half of the father's wealth. In Santa Barbara people don't generally lose sheep, but there are times when teenagers decide that the prodigal path looks better than life at home. Police officers find themselves in a unique position to find and reunite children with their families during times like this. It is an opportunity to start the healing process and rebuild families. Sometimes, we have the opportunity to be more than just the finder of a lost sheep.

Little Audrey's was an iconic diner in Santa Barbara. The restaurant was right in the middle of downtown and looked just like a place you might find along on Route 66 in the 1970's. For decades, Audrey served pancakes, BLT's, hamburgers and fries to thousands of customers. Cops paid $2.50 no matter what they ordered. Legend had it that a Police Chief once went down to the diner to confront Audrey about giving away discounted meals to cops. He ordered her stop. Audrey threw him out.

The diner was a family affair and Audrey's daughters and grandchildren worked at the restaurant with her. I ate at Audrey's two or three times a week. The rule of thumb was that when you paid for the meal, you left a tip that covered the cost of whatever you ordered. Over time, I got to know Audrey, her children and grandchildren. I would bring my family to the diner to eat. Audrey even held my oldest daughter as a baby and we still have her gift of an embroidered baby blanket.

One particular Sunday morning, I was working a patrol shift and went to Audrey’s early to grab some breakfast. I walked through the back door and could tell something was wrong. One of Audrey's daughters was in tears, Audrey was visibly shaken and the staff was oddly quiet as they went about their work. Audrey met me after I walked only a few steps into the business and told me that her 15 year old granddaughter, Brandy, ran away the night before. The family spent a sleepless night calling friends and driving through Santa Barbara looking for her. There were no such things as a cell phone, texting or e-mails. They were scared and worried. There was nothing more they could do. They had to open the business for the day.

I sat down to have breakfast and spent time talking with Audrey and Brandy’s mom about the circumstances leading up to that morning. Brandy’s mom was raising her daughter as a single parent. Over the previous months there was lots of arguing, disrespect and everyone in the family had opinions and expectations. It all ended with Brandy disappearing. That had not happened before. I finished eating, told them I would look for Brandy and left to go back to work.

It was typically quiet on Sunday mornings and I decided to drive around on the chance that I might spot Brandy out and about. The question was: Where would a 15 year old girl walk around on a Sunday morning after running away? Santa Barbara is 19 square miles with 100,000 people. I figured she would turn up in a few days and I would hear about it when I went back to the diner.

It occurred to me that five blocks away at the beach was a hotel that shared the same building with a local bar called Rocky’s. Rocky’s was a gathering place for 20 somethings. The staff was less than enthusiastic about checking ID’s and it was common to find under-aged kids in the business. The hotel was a place where teenagers would rent rooms and hold parties with minimal risk of the cops getting called out for loud music complaints. If you got denied access to Rocky’s, you could always go back up to your room for a shot and a beer.

I remember sitting in my police car and getting a sense that I should check there first. It sounds strange but it felt like the right place to go. I drove my police car out of the parking lot behind Audrey’s and travelled the five blocks or so towards the beach. As I drove past the front of the hotel, there stood a lone person. “Gee,” I thought, "That looks like Brandy.”

It was.

I did not believe it.

I pulled up to the curb. The look on her face not one of anger or fear but one asking for help. I pulled up to the curb and told her to get in so I could take her home. She accepted and climbed in the car. I did not ask her what she did or where she had been the previous night. I drove back to the restaurant.

Not ten minutes after I left the diner, I walked back in with Brandy right behind me. It was a very cool moment and there were looks of surprise on many faces in the diner. There was no yelling, no accusations, just relief as mother and daughter embraced. I spent a few minutes to make sure everything was ok. I left them sitting in a back booth of the diner quietly talking. It was a turning point for the family and I would watch Brandy grow into a young adult in the years that followed. I was blessed to see how my small role made a difference in a family’s life.

The following Sunday, I went back to the diner for breakfast. Audrey made me sit in the booth next to the kitchen.

“What do you want to eat, hun?”

“Surprise me.” I said.

The next thing I know, Audrey went into the kitchen, told all the cooks to stand back and after a little while I got the following:

A plate (and I mean ½ a loaf) of sourdough toast.

A plate of sliced tomatoes.

A plate of bacon.

A plate of hash browns (Audrey style).

A plate with two steaks cooked medium rare (The way I like them).

A plate of fried eggs (I think there were four).

Coffee, orange juice and milk.

The food just kept coming. I felt bad now. There was no way I could eat all of this.

Then I got the bill…$2.50.

A Baby in a Basket

Exodus 2:1-6 tells the story of Moses and how he as an infant he was put in a basket and floated down the Nile River. The daughter of Pharaoh found him, adopted him as a son and started a chain of events that brought Israel to the Promised Land. We can unknowingly be God’s instruments and be called as servants with results that we will never know. The challenge is to be willing to listen and respond to God’s calling when the opportunity presents itself.

For two years I was part of a street crimes enforcement unit. Our mission was to go out in t-shirts and jeans every day to find crimes in progress and arrest people committing them. It was one of the best jobs of my career. I spent most of the time was chasing drug dealers and users. One of the busiest areas for drug dealing was right in downtown Santa Barbara. On one block in particular were the Faulding Hotel and the Adobe Motel.

The Faulding was a five story hotel that might be described as a ½ star at best. The Adobe a two story property and was not much better.

The Faulding Hotel was not a place any officer felt comfortable in even during daylight hours. I always had a partner along as back up any time I ventured up the stairs looking for criminal activity. The good people who lived here were on general relief or some other form of government assistance. There were also drug dealers and users that wanted a place to sleep with no questions asked by disengaged desk clerks. These were the people we wanted out of the hotel.

Directly across the street from the Faulding was the Adobe Motel. Motel rooms were rented to prostitutes or dope dealer’s for as long as they had a supply of drugs to sell. I made a habit of stopping in to the front office at least once a week to take a look at the guest register. I was always sure to find a “registered guest” subject to search and seizure that pretty much guaranteed an arrest. The trick was to get through the motel room door and get in before drugs got flushed down the toilet.

On one particular day, I was with two other officers and we had just entered the ground floor of the Faulding Hotel. We walked through the musty lobby, passed the front desk and headed toward a carpeted stairs that led to a sitting room filled with mismatched couches. I was in the lead and saw a woman holding a baby in her arms walking toward me from the sitting room. I recognized her as a woman that had used drugs in the past and I had arrested for possession and prostitution many times. I used the word “had” because she was currently clean. Her reason to stop was in her arms. Her baby gave her the hope and motivation to stop using drugs but not the financial means to escape the hotel.

As she closed the gap between us, I could see a look of concern on her face. My two partners drew up close as she stopped in front of me and asked if I remembered her.

“Sure.” I said waiting for what she wanted to tell me.

“Last night, I heard that Kristy was shooting up in the third floor bathroom and she left her baby on the floor in urine soaked clothes after she was done. I picked up the baby and brought her to my room and put her in some of my son’s clothes.”

“Is she still in your room?”

“No, Kristy’s boyfriend got her this morning and took her over to room 108 at the Adobe across the street.”

“Where’s Kristy?” I asked.

“I haven’t seen her since last night.”

This mother didn’t care that she was talking to a cop in the middle of what was nothing less than a lion’s den filled with parolees, dope dealers and thieves. And yet, even among people that many would classify as criminals, there are times when it is acceptable to tell. This was one.

My first daughter was 8 months old at the time and I easily identified with the fears of the woman standing in front of me. It was clear to me that my partners and I needed to find this child and take action. I turned to my fellow officers to figure out our next step and to my surprise they had walked away leaving me standing alone with this reformed drug user that was seeking our help.

I had no idea where my “partners” disappeared to and I really did not care. I had a child to find and rescue. I could care less what I had to do to make sure a helpless little baby girl found refuge. I turned and walked out of the lobby and headed across the street toward the Adobe Motel. Room 108 was at the end of the “L” shaped motel on the ground floor. I walked through the parking lot in a direct path to the front door of the room. The door was closed and standing just outside was a man that easily weighed 300 pounds and would be a formidable foe if things went sideways. I was in street clothes and only had my weapon and a pair of handcuffs with no one to back me up.

There are times in our journey of faith that God motivates us to action with righteous anger. The junkie mother that preferred getting loaded over caring for her child, the desperate mother asking me to help a baby at risk, thoughts of my 8-month-old daughter and partners that conveniently disappeared because a felony arrest was unlikely to result if we found the child fueled my resolve to find this little baby.

I approached the door to the motel room with the large man in view. He was standing to the right of the door in front of the window that had the drapes drawn closed to prevent me from seeing inside. The large man either recognized me or saw my badge and gun on my belt but it was clear that even without a uniform on he knew what I was.

“Where is the baby?” I demanded.

“In the room, asleep.” The large man replied indignant.

“I am going inside to check on her.”

“Do you have a warrant?” He demanded moving in front of the motel room door.

I would do to him in a less than professional manner if he did not move. He made the decision to do the right thing and stepped aside.

I opened the door and stepped into what amounted to a 10 by 16 room with a bathroom to the rear. There was a double bed against one wall and the baby was placed in the middle, sleeping soundly. She looked healthy and dry. Between the bed and the bathroom wall were a pile of large plastic bags that were filled with clothes and other junk. I saw nothing in the way of diapers, formula, baby clothes or anything else necessary to care for an infant child of no more than 8 months.

“Where are the baby’s clothes?” I asked surveying the less than clean condition of the room.

“In those bags somewhere.” Came the response from the large man. It was clear he had no idea where anything was.

“What if the baby needs a diaper change?” I never thought as a cop I would be giving an oral parenting exam to anybody.

“I don’t change diapers.” Came the reply and that was all I needed to make my decision.

“The baby is mine.” I said and moved toward the sleeping baby carefully picking her up as if she was my own daughter.

As I picked up the child and turned to leave the room the large man insisted that he had women friends he could call on to help him with feeding and diaper changes. I don’t even think I gave the guy another look but brushed past him out the front door. Now I found myself standing in the middle of a crappy motel parking lot in street clothes with a baby cradled in my arms and a 9mm handgun and badge strapped to my side. The good news was that my partners made their way over to the motel and met me as I walked across the parking lot.

“Get the car.” I directed one of the guys I was working with. We returned to the police department. I turned the baby over to a child protective services worker. I never saw that little baby again.

Three months later I was back walking in front of the Faulding Hotel and I spotted Kristy walking toward me. It was clear that she was still using and was working as a prostitute for income. We had a short conversation and I wound up giving her a ticket for being in possession of marijuana. After this encounter, I made a beeline for the station. I immediately called the child protective services office and found out who this woman’s caseworker was. As it turned out, the caseworker told me that she was glad I called to tell her about my contact with Kristy because the caseworker was planning to give the child back to her at the end of the week!

After that, I made it a point to notify Kristy’s caseworker any time I arrested Kristy or saw her loitering around the area of the Faulding. The child was given up for adoption and a few years later I found Kristy once again in front of the Faulding. This time, she was clean. She told me about the family her daughter was with and that she got to see her daughter on occasion. The little girl I rescued from a drug using mother is now 19. I don’t know how things worked out for her or where she is. I do know that God put me in the lobby of the Faulding Hotel to take the “basket floating down the Nile” out of the water.