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Same Kind of Different as Me: Conversation Guide

Same Kind of Different as Me: Conversation Guide

by Ron Hall

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If you were astounded by the unlikely true story of a life-changing friendship in Same Kind of Different as Me, you can now go deeper into the story and its powerful themes with the Same Kind of Different As Me DVD-Based Conversation Kit and its accompanying Conversation Guide.

Perfect for your individual study or a small-group discussion, the


If you were astounded by the unlikely true story of a life-changing friendship in Same Kind of Different as Me, you can now go deeper into the story and its powerful themes with the Same Kind of Different As Me DVD-Based Conversation Kit and its accompanying Conversation Guide.

Perfect for your individual study or a small-group discussion, the Same Kind of Different As Me Conversation Guide will be your companion as you watch the DVD, providing insights for a convicting lesson and thought-provoking questions for discussion.

Appealing to many audiences, Same Kind of Different as Me compares one man’s experience with 20th-century “slavery” and homelessness in the United States with another’s portrayal of his own complacency and wealth.

From a burning plantation hut in Louisiana to an upscale New York art gallery, you will see the heart of God in this unexpected tale of the transforming power of love and friendship. Gritty with pain and betrayal and brutality, Same Kind of Different as Me is an inspirational true story that crosses the barriers of society. 

For use with Same Kind of Different As Me DVD-Based Conversation Kit (ISBN 9781418542863).

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Read an Excerpt

same kind of different As me.

Conversation Guide

Thomas Nelson

Copyright © 2013 Ron Hall
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4185-4980-0

Chapter One

Session 1

extraordinary faith


There are those two four-letter words—HOPE and LOVE—and then there's that five-letter word—FAITH. While faith is not scripturally the greatest of these, it is quite possibly the hardest because its essence is the unseen, the not-yet, the still to come. And while trying to measure faith is an exercise in silliness, there do seem to be those moments in life when extraordinary faith is called for, something beyond the day-by-day trust we place in God.

"Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark." —Elizabeth Gilbert

Getting Started

Following are two excerpts highlighting extraordinary faith, from the book Same Kind of Different as Me. As a group, take turns reading each excerpt aloud, paying attention to any key words or phrases that catch your attention. When you are finished reading, take a few minutes to share your thoughts with the group.

Opening Chapters

The first excerpt concerns a dream Debbie Hall had that is really the core of the story of Same Kind of Different as Me.

She did have one other fear, though: missing the call of God. And she felt called to work at the mission. I wish I could say I felt God had tapped me for the assignment, too, but I didn't. But I did feel called to be a good husband, so I went.

The Union Gospel Mission sits just beyond the beauty of the restored section of Fort Worth, a city that became a national model for downtown revitalization, thanks to the billionaires who loved it. In that part of town, soaring glass towers pulse with legal intrigue and high finance. Nearby, warmer-looking buildings refaced with brick and brownstone line sidewalks graced with raised iron flowerboxes, manicured trees, and—after all, it's Texas—topiaries of longhorn cattle. A cultural district spans three city blocks, housing three world-class museums, the Kimbell, the Amon Carter, and the Modern. A mile east, cafés open onto cobblestone plazas where dazzling urbanites can sip lattes and mineral water, and watch cowboys amble by in their boots and spurs.

Travel farther east, though, and the colors and flora of restoration fade into hopelessness and despair. Drive under the I-30/I-35 interchange, pass beneath an impossible pretzel of freeways called the Mixmaster and through a tunnel that efficiently separates the haves from the unsightly have-nots, and there are no more plazas or monuments or flowerboxes and certainly no more dazzling urbanites. In their place: tumbledown buildings with busted-out glass. Walls scarred with urine stains and graffiti. Gutters choked with beer cans and yellowed newspapers. And vacant lots blanketed in johnsongrass tall enough to conceal a sea of empty vodka bottles and assorted drunks.

Driving out of that tunnel shocks most people into realizing they made a wrong turn. But on a sun-splashed Monday in the early spring of 1998, Deborah and I drove out there on purpose, she propelled by her passion to help the broken and I propelled by a love for my wife.

As we passed out of the dark tunnel onto East Lancaster Street, we witnessed a curious one-way migration, a streaming of people, like tributaries all flowing east into a single, larger river of souls. On our left, a string of shabby men staggered from the johnsongrass that covered a lot. To the right, a parade of women and children in dirty, mismatched clothes shambled along, dragging green garbage bags. One boy, about eight, wore only a man's undershirt and black socks.

"They're going to the mission!" Deborah said, beaming, as if the entire ragtag bunch was long-lost TCU alumni and she just couldn't wait to catch up. I managed some sort of agreeing noise and a thin smile. To me, they looked as if they'd somehow found a portal from the Middle Ages and squeaked through just in time to escape the plague.

When we reached the mission, I bumped our truck over the driveway dip where a brown-trousered fat man dangled a cigarette from his lips and stood guard at a rusted chain-link gate. I offered my friendliest east Texas grin. "We're here to volunteer," I told him.

He flashed back a toothless smile, and I swear his cigarette never moved, just clung to his bottom lip as though he'd tacked it there with a stapler.

I had pulled into the parking lot wondering how quickly I'd be able to pull out again, but Deborah suddenly spoke in a tone that you learn to recognize when you've loved someone for years, a tone that says, "Hear me on this."

"Ron, before we go in, I want to tell you something." She leaned back against her headrest, closed her eyes. "I picture this place differently than it is now. White flowerboxes lining the streets, trees and yellow flowers. Lots of yellow flowers like the pastures at Rocky Top in June."

Deborah opened her eyes and turned to me with an expectant smile: "Can't you just see that? No vagrants, no trash in the gutters, just a beautiful place where these people can know God loves them as much as He loves the people on the other side of that tunnel."

I smiled, kissed my fingertips, and laid them against her cheek. "Yes, I can see that." And I could. I just didn't mention that I thought she was getting a little ahead of herself.

She hesitated, then spoke again. "I had a dream about it."

"About this place?"

"Yes," she said, gazing at me intently. "I saw this place changed. It was beautiful, like I was saying, with the flowers and everything. It was crystal clear, like I was standing right here and it was the future already."

* * *

The second excerpt describes an incredibly painful time in the history of Denver Moore, an experience that could have embittered him forever had it not been for the mustard seed of faith in his life and the lives of those around him.

I was just puttin the lug nuts back on when them three boys rode outta the woods and asked the lady did she need any help. 'Course, the redheaded fella with the big teeth was the one that first spotted me and called me a nigger. And the next thing I knew, I had a rope squeezed tight around my neck and black terror slitherin through my belly like a water moccasin.

"We gon' teach you a lesson about botherin white ladies," said the one holdin the rope.

'Cept I hadn't been botherin her, just fixin her tire. But she didn't volunteer no other story, and I didn't say nothin 'cause for sure they wadn't gon' be believin me. I figured if I spoke, it would just add to my troubles.

I kept an eye on the boy with the rope, and when he lashed it to his saddle, I knowed what was comin and got real scared. With both hands, I reached up to try to get the rope loose. That's when they snapped their reins and took off just a-laughin.

The horses trotted at first, goin slow enough for me to run. I was stumblin along behind, my hands still graspin at the noose and me tryin to keep my feet under me. The horses was only maybe ten feet in front of me, and I could hear their feet beatin the dirt. The dust stung my eyes. I could taste it.

Then I heard a whoop and a holler. My feet flew out from under me and I crashed down in the dirt, my knees and elbows skiddin down the road. The horses pounded and pounded and I held on to the noose like a steerin wheel, tryin to pry my fingers inside of it to keep the noose from closin in tighter. The dirt was blindin me and chokin me. My shirtsleeves and the knees of my britches tore away, then my skin peeled back like a rabbit ready for the skillet. I couldn't hear no more laughin, just the terrible thunder of them horses draggin me down to die.

I expect I would a' died if Bobby and his aunt, the Man's wife from the other plantation, hadn't been drivin down the road right then. I'd about blacked out by that time, and I don't really remember too much of what happened next. I just know the draggin all of a sudden stopped. I peeked through my eyes, which had swoll up to slits and seen Bobby's aunt standin in the road pointin a shotgun at them boys on horses.

"Cut him loose!" she hollered. I felt the noose go slack and seen the raggedy end of the rope fall to the ground like a snake with the evil gone out of it. Then I heard them boys ride off laughin.

Bobby and his aunt hustled me into their car and drove me to my auntie's house. She tended to me with her roots and potions, slatherin a paste on my eyes to ease the swellin. I stayed in her bed a week till the swellin went down and I could see good again. Took about that long for my skin to scab over so I could put on pants and a shirt.

I knowed who done it. And I figured their daddies was in the Klan. But in Red River Parish, colored men had learned it was better to keep their mouths shut than tell what they know, 'less they wanted worse things to happen to their family, like maybe wakin up in the middle of the night with the house on fire.

Lookin back, I figure what them boys done caused me to get a little throwed off in life. And for sure I wadn't gon' be offerin to help no white ladies no more.


Read the following statement and the section below, and then discuss as a group.

"Mommy, I ran out of strong." —Carson Hall

Debbie and Ron's son, Carson, used this phrase as a little boy; it described times when he felt extra tired. Can you relate to being out of strong? It could be a physical tiredness or an emotional or spiritual weariness, or it could be some combination of all of the above. In other words, you've exhausted all the possibilities, and you've come to the end of your rope, maybe even the end of yourself. As Denver would say, "Our limitation is God's opportunity."

Extraordinary faith is stepping out into a situation or experience to which God is calling you when you don't have the strength or smarts to go on, when you've run out of strong. That's the point at which God can take over and work and move in ways that can only be ascribed to Him and His glory.


Matthew 8 contains two stories of contrasting faith: one tells of a centurion, a man under authority who displayed a confidence in Jesus and His power to heal, while the other tells of an incident in the lives of the disciples. As a group member reads aloud, pay close attention to these stories in light of the earlier excerpts.

The Faith of the Centurion

Now when Jesus had entered Capernaum, a centurion came to Him, pleading with Him, saying, "Lord, my servant is lying at home paralyzed, dreadfully tormented."

And Jesus said to him, "I will come and heal him."

The centurion answered and said, "Lord, I am not worthy that You should come under my roof. But only speak a word, and my servant will be healed. For I also am a man under authority, having soldiers under me. And I say to this one, 'Go,' and he goes; and to another, 'Come,' and he comes; and to my servant, 'Do this,' and he does it."

When Jesus heard it, He marveled, and said to those who followed, "Assuredly, I say to you, I have not found such great faith, not even in Israel!" (Matthew 8:5–10)

* * *

Jesus Calms the Storm

Now when He got into a boat, His disciples followed Him. And suddenly a great tempest arose on the sea, so that the boat was covered with the waves. But He was asleep. Then His disciples came to Him and awoke Him, saying, "Lord, save us! We are perishing!"

But He said to them, "Why are you fearful, O you of little faith?" Then He arose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm.

So the men marveled, saying, "Who can this be, that even the winds and the sea obey Him?" (Matthew 8:23–27)

After seeing the centurion's level of trust, Jesus qualified his faith as great, or you could say extraordinary. But the word used to describe His own disciples' faith was little. Not really what you might expect, is it?

Extraordinary faith. Great faith. And for a little different variation on that theme, Ron mentioned that Debbie had a scary faith, one that not only challenged him but unsettled him as well. Take a moment and consider that last adjective—scary. First off, what do you find scary? Don't overthink it; just go with what comes immediately to mind, and share with the group. Then, what are some ways that FAITH can be scary, not only to yourself but also to those around you? Give yourself a moment to think before sharing.


If you'd like to take a few notes as you watch the session 1 video segment, use the space below.


During this section it is time to open up and discover how God might use this session to transform your life.

Same as Me

* When you consider the time you placed your faith in Christ, did it look more like Debbie's (well researched/C. S. Lewis–like) or Ron's (rather quick and immediate/Damascus road–like)? Share a little bit about that experience.

* What are some of the dreams you have for your life? They may be personal or corporate or both. Do you feel that any of those dreams are God-ordained, something you have to do, and that they might call for extraordinary faith?

Different than Me

* Ron and Debbie Hall were Texans, accustomed to a certain lifestyle, living in the bustling metropolis of Dallas/Fort Worth. That's their story. What is yours? Where do you find yourself in life at this time? Be as specific as you can.

* Initially, Denver was skittish around Ron and Debbie, not really knowing their intentions. What about you? Has there been a time when someone significant to your life reached out to help or befriend you, but you initially kept that person at arm's length? Share briefly about that time. How can that memory inform some of your own attempts at helping in the present?

The Real World

As you close this session, take a few moments and come up with two ways you can practice extraordinary or even scary FAITH this week. As you think about those scenarios, who are the other characters involved—family, friends, coworkers? If you had to guess, what would some of their reactions be to your exercise of risky faith? Will they be supportive? Surprised? Might they just walk away? As you share your thoughts, remember that you are committing to the other members of the group an intention to actually try to exercise a level of faith that's uncommon for you.

Here are two words of encouragement: start small; don't try to change the other person or the world or yourself overnight. And remember Philippians 4:13, but at the same time, don't forget that verse 14 reminds us that when we run out of strong, God wants to strengthen us by the presence and support of our brothers and sisters in the body of Christ. After everyone has had a chance to share, take a few minutes to pray, asking God to bless the group's efforts at extraordinary faith in the week ahead.

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Nevertheless you have done well that you shared in my distress." —Philippians 4:13–14

Chapter Two

Session 2

forgiveness / unconditional love


Most of us have the one, that thing about which we think, If I ever did that, I could never be forgiven, much less forgive myself. Whatever else the one thing may be, it is a boundary, a limit, a condition stating, Don't go beyond this point. But in the heat of some moments, we often disregard that voice in our heads that says, Don't do it!—and we do it. And that's when life gets really interesting, isn't it?

"One of the keys to happiness is a bad memory." —Rita Mae Brown

Getting Started

Following are two excerpts highlighting forgiveness/ unconditional love, from the book Same Kind of Different as Me. As a group, take turns reading each excerpt aloud, paying attention to any key words or phrases that catch your attention. When you are finished reading, take a few minutes to share your thoughts with the group.

Opening Chapters

In both of the opening chapters that follow, Ron Hall is the recipient of forgiveness. In the first scenario, Ron knew exactly why forgiveness was needed; his wrong was clear. But the second scenario is not quite as clear, and Ron needed Denver to help him "wake up."

In the end, I saw the artist only twice, once in California and once in New York, then confessed to Deborah—with a little help from my friends. I confided my conquest to a friend, who confided my confidence to his wife, who "encouraged" me to tell Deborah. If I didn't, she said, she would.

Calculating that it was better to rat myself out than look like a weasel, I called the artist from the office one day and told her I couldn't see her anymore. Then I went home and confessed to Deborah. My spin: Her disinterest had driven me into the arms of another woman, one who wanted me just the way I was—money and all.

"What!" she screamed, flying into a rage. "Nineteen years! Nineteen years! What were you thinking? How could you do this?"

Shoes, vases, and figurines flew through the air, some a direct hit. When nothing else presented itself as a weapon, Deborah pounded me with her bare fists until her arms wore out and hung limp at her sides.

The night spun by in a whirl of sleepless anger. The next morning we phoned our pastor, then drove to his office where we spent most of the day airing our garbage. In the end, we discovered that neither of us was quite ready to give up. We did still love each other, though in that vestigial way of couples who've worn each other out. We agreed to try to work things out.


Excerpted from same kind of different As me. by RON HALL DENVER MOORE Copyright © 2013 by Ron Hall. Excerpted by permission of Thomas Nelson. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Ron Hall is an international art dealer whose long list of regular clients includes many celebrity personalities. An MBA graduate of Texas Christian University, he divides his time between Dallas, New York, and his Brazos River ranch near Fort Worth.

Denver Moore served as a volunteer at the Fort Worth Union Gospel Mission until his death in March 2012.

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