StevesWriting.com

Some of Steve Imparl’s writing published on the Web

Welcome To My Site...

Since I began my first blog in 2003, I've written a fair amount--more than 150,000 words--that has not been published in print. I've posted some of that writing on my blogs, but there's a lot I haven't shared publicly. To get more of my writing online, I'm going to post a lot of it here. I'll still publish much of it through traditional channels, such as in print, but I want to have an online site dedicated to my writing that is less a blog organized by the dates of the entries and more a collection of writing organized thematically. Enjoy your visit.

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Some Thoughts Triggered by the Snow on December 3, 2009

Posted By Steve on December 3, 2009

December snow is falling on the ground;
A howling wind is blowing it around.
I’m in my office, safe and dry and warm
Without a reason to engage the storm.
At least not ’til the evening when I must
Depart and walk and ride the train and bus.

The little boy in me wants just to play;
The grown man knows the work that must be done.
It’s sometimes sad to live as an adult
With duties getting in the way of fun.
But we must do our best to carry on
And act responsibly.  For who will do
The many tasks our complex world requires
If we shirk our responsibilities?

The days are gone when I can phone my friends,
And say to Tim and Bill and Mark and Pat,
“I’ve got the ball; I’ll meet you at the park,”
And spend the wintry day in boyish bliss.

It’s sad because I miss those simpler days
And wonder how I can recapture them.
The football game in snow will have to wait
At least until tonight or Saturday.
Our families and our pets must all be fed–
If only they all, too, would play instead!

Our lives may be a little more secure
If only ’cause we earn our daily bread
And have a little more direct control
Of how our time and money will be spent.

Responsibility demands we give
Our talent, time, and treasure to our work.
We’ve gained so many things now as adults,
But still I wonder why the cost’s so high.

Category: Adulthood, Childhood, Nostalgia, Poems | No Comments »
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Into the Abyss and Back

Posted By Steve on August 29, 2009

(Originally Published in Newsweek Japan, December 4, 2002, pp. 54-55)

“Beep, beep, beep, beep,” my alarm clock sounded on a sunny, clear morning in mid-October, 2001. A warm breeze blew through the open window. Birds chirped happily in the backyard. Outside, the day was starting very well.

There was only one problem: I could not get out of bed. My brain simply could not be bothered to tell my arms and legs to move. During the previous few months, I had begun to dread the mornings and I did not want to face another day. Although I love my work, the thought of going to my downtown Chicago office on this particular day was positively horrifying.

Under normal circumstances, I relished autumn days like this one. Now, I wanted to hide under the covers and wait for the world to disappear.

My low mood was not a surprise. For the previous three months, a strange fear–”a sense of impending doom”–greeted me when I awoke in the morning. That fear followed me through my waking hours like a lost black dog. I was having trouble concentrating, working, and enjoying life.

Knowing what lay ahead of me, I did not greet the day with my usual enthusiasm. Instead, I found myself tumbling down a bottomless abyss from which there appeared to be no escape. Indeed, at that point, I did not even want to escape. I was content to continue my free fall into oblivion, unconcerned about such mundane things as paying my bills, getting dressed, or even eating. A profound apathy tainted everything in my life; I just did not care what happened.

Sure, the economy was deteriorating all around me and I was highly anxious about keeping new clients and trying to find new ones. Yes, I had been chronically cranky, irritable, and restless. I hadn’t slept longer than 30 minutes at a time for several months. I had broken off a relationship with a woman whom I had loved deeply and to whom I had nearly become engaged.

I found myself angry almost all the time. Although I am usually calm and fairly even-tempered, lately, the slightest provocation could make my blood boil. Once, while I was walking down the street at lunchtime, a man driving a small red sports car in the snarled Chicago traffic blew his horn just a little too long. I yelled at the driver and he yelled something back. Almost instantly, I was shouting at him and ready–no, eager–to throw punches. I calmed myself with a few deep breaths as the noisy man and his car disappeared into the endless flood of vehicles. My response had been totally out of character; I knew something was wrong and I didn’t like it.

On top of this, I was working insanely long hours, yet accomplishing less and less, despite all my effort. On weekends, I mostly laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Spending time with friends was unbearable. I was contemplating suicide with an alarming frequency, and I had plotted my demise in gruesome detail. But no, I wasn’t depressed.

In my one-man law practice, I counsel and represent small businesses, especially Internet and e-commerce companies. I intentionally surround myself with fellow entrepreneurs, in part, to boost my energy and mood. My work is interesting and very rewarding. However, in the summer of 2001, I was turning away new clients because I could not generate the enthusiasm to work for them. Consequently, my income was dropping. As my income dropped, my mood sank, too. As my mood worsened, my income fell further. A dangerous cycle had begun.

Because all of these feelings and behaviors were so unusual for me, I started seeing a therapist. The sessions were helpful, but something was missing. I mentioned my frustration with the “missing” piece to my therapist, and he gently invited me to consider medical treatment. For a few months, I balked at that idea. I told him I was not “crazy” or “unstable,” and I resented any suggestion that I was. I did not want to see a psychiatrist. Seeing a psychotherapist was bad enough, but to see a psychiatrist implied mental illness, with its embarrassing baggage of misconceptions and stigma.

Nevertheless, on that October morning, I realized I had two options: try medications or kill myself. Facing that grim Hobson’s choice, I contacted a psychiatrist that my therapist had recommended and scheduled an appointment with her at the end of the following week.

Arriving at the psychiatrist’s office, I expected to meet a cold, disagreeable figure who would delve into my earliest childhood memories, fill me with exotic brain-numbing pills, and administer painful electric shock therapies when the former methods failed to cure me. I was pleasantly surprised. The doctor was a friendly middle-aged woman with a soft voice and a gracious demeanor. She asked a few questions, but mostly let me talk. She listened intently and wrote a few notes. After pausing for a moment, the good doctor smiled respectfully and told me I was suffering from major depression.

I was shocked. Me? Depressed? No way! I bristled at the doctor’s diagnosis. On the surface, everything seemed to be going great. As a lawyer-businessman in my late 30s, I had been blessed with success and interesting opportunities in law, information technology, business, and writing. I had achieved most of the goals I had set for myself professionally and personally. I had been happily self-employed for seven years and had published a highly successful three-volume book about Internet law. I was exploring some promising new business ventures. My family was healthy. I had a lot of friends. How could I be depressed?

Initially, accepting that I had depression was extremely difficult. I felt weak and inadequate, flawed and lazy. I concluded I must have had some terrible character flaw to be feeling so awful. Because most things in my life were going very well, a diagnosis of depression made no sense to me.

Nor did I like the idea of taking pills for depression; in part, because I worried they would change my personality or turn me into a zombie. I had read about antidepressants. I knew that the process of prescribing antidepressant medicines could be a matter of trial and error, and that doctors had only “theories” about how those medicines worked, rather than facts. I was very uncomfortable with the idea of medical treatment for depression because it seemed so unscientific.

Further, I had thought that depression was an illness that primarily affected women. In the popular media, I had seen many depictions of depressed women, but never of depressed men. As a guy who liked to be active and engaged in life, I felt ashamed of a condition that threatened to bench me in the game of life at a critical point in that game. Depression was too unmanly and, well, too depressing to accept.

Since I was paying my hard-earned money for the 45-minute visit with the psychiatrist, I told her all of my concerns. I expressed my disbelief and asked her how I could possibly be depressed. Patiently, my doctor explained that depression is a physical illness as much as it is an illness of the mind. I learned that most psychiatrists now believe depression results from an imbalance of certain chemicals in the brain called neurotransmitters. Encouragingly, the doctor said that depression usually responds well to treatment. She also told me that a lot of people suffer from depression and that there is no reason to feel ashamed of the illness. Becoming somber for a moment, she cautioned that untreated depression could be fatal: as many as 15% of depressed persons who do not receive treatment eventually kill themselves.

The doctor prescribed a medication called EffexorXR®. I’d like to say that there was a miraculous change the next day, but it didn’t work that way. In fact, for the first few weeks, I felt nothing. I wanted to abandon the treatment. I called my doctor, who suggested I be patient because antidepressants can take several weeks to reach their full effect. I waited three months, punctuated by regular visits with my doctor. Finally, after taking the medication for about three and one half months, I began to feel consistently better and more like my usual self.

A year later, I am feeling much better. Most of my enthusiasm for life has returned. Increasingly, I have moments of joy and a sense of direction and purpose. My income is gradually rising, too, although it will take time to recover the recent losses. I am developing a new Internet-based business, actively networking with other professionals, and seeking new clients for my law practice.

I now realize that I did not have to suffer as long as I did or feel ashamed of my depression. Effective treatments are available and offer us hope. I am the living proof.

Category: Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Experience, Personal | 1 Comment »
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Remembering Fritz and Other Beloved Pets

Posted By Steve on February 17, 2009

It has been a difficult week for me.  Fritz, my friend Mark’s beloved cat, passed away on Tuesday, February 10, 2009, after suffering a few weeks from an illness of the liver.  Although Fritz lived with Mark, and not with me, he touched my life during the short time I knew him.

I met Fritz when he and Mark lived on Chicago’s South Side.  As a result of my move last September, I lived just a short walk from their home.  As such, I got to see Fritz a lot.  He was always friendly to me and, as he got to know me better, was even more affectionate and eager to be close to me, even sitting on my lap.  I was always happy to spend some time with him.  I enjoyed petting him and brushing him.  I liked it when he pressed his gums and teeth on my hands and clothing to leave his scent on me and when he grabbed my hand and held it between his pause.

Fritz visited my new home on Thanksgiving Day.  It was a new place and he was a little scared, finding places to hide and try to make himself comfortable.  Despite his initial fear, he did manage to make enough appearances to delight my parents and specifically my mom, who is disabled from a traumatic brain injury.  Those moments were especially moving to me.

The following week, after seeing how much my mom liked Fritz and thinking it would be therapeutic for her, Mark invited my parents to visit him and Fritz at their home.  I joined the four of them and had a very enjoyable evening.  At his own home, Fritz was naturally more at ease and was quite comfortable sitting or lying down next to Dad and Mom.   Near the end of the visit, Fritz was lying right next to my mom.  Mom was happy; Fritz seemed safe, comfortable, and content.  These are happy memories for me.  I am grateful to Mark and Fritz for making them happen.

I received a special gift the day before Fritz passed away.  Since I work from a home office and, with some basic accommodation, can work almost anywhere, Mark was concerned about Fritz’s health (Fritz had gone to the vet the weekend before that day), so he invited me to work from his home so that I could stay with Fritz.  I was honored and happy to do it.  Out of respect for Fritz, I won’t recount details of that daylong visit.  I’ll just say that I am deeply blessed to have had the time to spend with him that day.

Losing Fritz is painful.  I will miss him, but I also feel for my friend Mark, too, and hope he will be consoled.  This is a difficult time.

I’ve written before about Flopsy, a miniature schnauzer, and my parents’ second dog. She passed away in 2002.  Yes, I have missed that sweet little dog. But I have been comforted in the more recent years. My understanding of birth and death is a lot different now. I probably value life even more, but I also feel like I don’t really believe in birth and death. I have learned that those two events are relatively arbitrary points on a vast, ongoing continuum of life.

I have been especially reassured by some of the writings of the Zen teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh. His writing has shown me that one can take a bigger view of life, a view that is not limited by time or space, birth or death, coming or going, being or non-being, coming or going. Let me quote a few of his words here.

The day my mother died I wrote in my journal, A serious misfortune of my life has arrived. I suffered for more than one year after the passing away of my mother. But one night, in the highlands of Vietnam, I was sleeping in the hut in my hermitage. I dreamed of my mother. I saw myself sitting with her and we were having a wonderful talk. She looked young and beautiful, her hair flowing down. It was so pleasant to sit there and talk to her as if she had never died.

When I woke up it was about two in the morning and I felt very strongly as though I had never lost my mother. The impression that my mother was still with me was very clear. I understood then that the idea of having lost my mother was just an idea. It was obvious in that moment that my mother was just an idea. It was obvious in that moment that my mother is always alive in me.

Since there is much more to the teaching, here is the link to the complete article from which those quoted paragraphs come.

http://www.beliefnet.com/story/113/story_11310.html

If you enjoy that one, here is one more to savor.

http://www.beliefnet.com/story/113/story_11309.html

In my own faith tradition, Paul writes:

“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which will be revealed toward us. For the creation waits with eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to vanity, not of its own will, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of decay into the liberty of the glory of the children of God.”

Romans 8:18-21 (WEB)

More specifically about pets, Wallace Sife assures us that All Pets Go to Heaven.  For a nice multimedia presentation of the “Rainbow Bridge” poem, visit this page.

Just a little more than 10 years ago, I would have said some of this was crazy talk. That was before my awakening began. It has been a long process, this waking up, but each day, each moment that I am mindful of my life, I wake just a little more and see reality a bit more clearly.

My parents’ first dog, Mopsy, grew up with my brother and me. That dear little dog passed away in 1989. I’ve cried a lot of tears over Flopsy and Mopsy–and lately for Fritz, too–but I have been consoled more recently and I recall these consolations to help me get through the times when I miss them all a lot.

In December 2005, while I was on vacation on the Florida Gulf coast, I was taking a leisurely, but mindful walk along the beach. Walking shirtless in the wet sand near the water’s edge, I noticed the endless progression of waves. They rose, they fell. They came, they went. Some were big, some were small. Yet, for the first time I can remember, I saw much more than the waves. Within and all around the waves, I saw water, the ground or essence of being of the waves. I was deeply calmed and at peace by this realization. All the vicissitudes of life, the birth and the death, and the endless changes we experience were still there, but I saw into the nature of them and of me. I was no longer frightened.

As the sun’s light shone on the sea’s sparkling surface, to my left I saw pelicans flying over the water. To my right, a crowd of seagulls were resting on the warm, dry sand. As I continued walking, I had to look twice, but I saw both Mopsy and Flopsy playing in the waves. As the small waves broke on the shore, those two little dogs were rolling and running and tumbling over one another. The sound of the gently splashing water was like the happy panting of two dogs enjoying themselves in the present moment–the only place where dogs live. At that moment, I saw them, present, alive, well, and joyful, years after they had passed away and just over a thousand miles from where they had lived in Chicago. Having seen them, I am at peace. I know they are always with me. Although I have not yet seen Fritz playing in those waves, I know it’s just a matter of time before I spot him there, or in a place that might be more to a cat’s liking. For that, I am blessed and very grateful.

Category: Animals, Cats, Consolation, Dogs, Pets | No Comments »
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Snowflakes

Posted By Steve on February 14, 2009

They fall gently on the January branch.
Taking their places, they recline
Among their siblings,
As they start their frozen slumber
In the day’s last light.

They remain, still and sleeping,
Until the spring’s first bird
Coos to rouse them
From their chilly nap.

Upon awakening to the sun’s gentle kiss,
They drip softly to the earth
And water the thirsty, waiting ground.

Category: Poems, Weather | No Comments »
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Woman of Vision

Posted By Steve on February 13, 2009

She looks at the world through artistic eyes:
In darkness, she sees a glimmering light;
In fog, she finds the sun.

Through tears, she still sees smiles
That greet her warmly and welcome her.

Though she has lived forever,
She wears the sweet face of a maiden.

Her years of pain and sadness
Have not made her bitter.

No, her heart and mind and soul are free,
Forever fresh and young.

She is wise–she won’t be fooled–
But she still can hold a baby,
A flower, a blade of grass,
Or her husband’s hand,
With all the gentleness and kindness
She has ever known.

Category: Poems, Women | No Comments »
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A Best Friend’s Creed

Posted By Steve on January 22, 2009

I was inspired to write this after reading “Credo of a Best Friend,” in Ken Druck, The Secrets Men Keep (New York: Ballantine Books, 1985), pp. 135-136. This is a statement of principles by which I try to live and to honor my close male friends.

  • I will become the best man I can be and help my friend to become the best man he can be.
  • With God’s help, I will live as God’s man by regular prayer, Bible reading, meditation, and mindful living, and support my friend in his efforts to do the same.
  • I will work hard and play hard and fair in this friendship.
  • I will do my part to make this friendship the best it can be.
  • I will be honest with my friend and speak candidly, even at the risk of causing a rift between us.
  • Although I will be truthful, I will take care not to be unkind or needlessly offensive.

  • If I see my friend messing up his life, I will tell him, but I will respect him as his own man and remember that he is free to disregard my advice and that the final decisions are his to make, not mine.
  • I will rejoice in, celebrate, and cheer my friend’s successes and wins in life.
  • I will refrain from trying to morph my friend into a copy of me.
  • Although I may follow my friend’s example in living according to his best qualities, I will refrain from trying to morph myself into a copy of him.

  • I will wish the best for my friend in all things.
  • I will lift up my friend in prayer regularly and ask that he pray for me, too, from time to time.
  • I will help my friend when I can, and be strong and humble enough to ask for and accept his help when I need it.
  • I will be open and honest with my friend about how I want our friendship to be, and listen to him to learn what he wants in the friendship.
  • I will acknowledge any feelings of envy, jealousy, or competitiveness that arise in me and will resolve them in a way that has the best chance of preserving the friendship.

  • I will accept my friend as he is, realizing that, like me, he is a work in progress and wants to improve himself, but respecting that his improvement will unfold on his terms and not mine.
  • I will celebrate the differences between my friend and me, and ask that he do the same for me.
  • I will work with my friend to cultivate our friendship consciously, always respectful of any limits he wants to place on it.
  • I will communicate with my friend regularly, but also honor and respect his need for solitude, “down time,” and the majority of his life that has nothing to do with me.
  • If I ever harm my friend, intentionally or unintentionally, I will cultivate genuine remorse in myself, take responsibility for my actions, seek his forgiveness, make amends on terms acceptable to him, and accept the possibility that he might reject my attempts to make things right.

  • If I take offense at anything my friend says or does, I will work it out with him in good faith as soon as I can after I recognize that I feel offended.
  • I will not allow grudges or resentments, no matter how small, to take root in me and threaten the friendship.
  • I will give generously to my friend, with no strings attached.  If I ever feel that my friend is not pulling his weight in the friendship, I will talk with him about it directly and as soon as possible, rather than developing a grudge or resentment.
  • I will consciously develop the social skills necessary to maintain and enhance the friendship.
  • I will listen openly and carefully when my friend gives me advice; even though I might be unwilling to follow his advice, I will hear him out.

  • Without infringing on his autonomy, I will look out for the well-being of my friend and accept his good-faith acts in looking out for my well-being.
  • I will accept and forgive my friend’s errors, mistakes, and unskillful acts, and ask him to extend the same kindness to me.
  • I will maintain a sense of humor and be free to laugh and joke with my friend, while respecting his boundaries and being willing to shut up or back off if I start to annoy him.
  • I will accept that my friend may not be as enthusiastic about something as I am, without taking that lack of enthusiasm personally.
  • I will do my part to resolve any disputes between us promptly and finally, and in a fair, honest, and manly way that preserves our friendship.

  • I will work at, and not run away from, my fear of closeness, especially as it relates to male friendships or spending time with small groups of men.
  • I will accept that my friend will be better at some things than I am, and vice versa, remembering that this friendship is much more important to me than my occasional feelings of jealousy or envy.
  • Recognizing that lust for women is an issue that is sometimes difficult for me–and an issue that can grievously harm friendships–I will practice mindfulness so that, through God’s grace, I will not allow lustful temptation to harm any woman, my friend, or any woman in my friend’s life.
  • I will remember that competitiveness can be either a negative or positive influence in friendships among men, and will watch for the negative effects of competitiveness.
  • If I find competitiveness becoming too negative or endangering the friendship, I will invite my friend to compete against me in a sport at which we both do poorly and to which we both agree.  I will ask my friend to do the same if he finds himself or me becoming excessively competitive.  In any such event, I will compete in a fair, honorable, friendly, and sportsmanlike manner.  I will use the sports contest to work out and resolve any competitiveness or differences between us.  After completing the event, I will shake my friend’s hand, consider the matter resolved, and ask that he do the same.

  • To my friend, as to the rest of the world, I will continue be a genuine, sincere, what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy.
  • I will listen to what my friend has to say, even if it hurts initially, in the spirit of learning more about myself and being the best man I can be.

Category: Male Friendship, Men | No Comments »
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Meeting Jesus at the Airport: Some Thoughts and a Story About Christmas

Posted By Steve on December 25, 2008

I’ve looked deeply into the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. He taught people about love, compassion, peace, righteousness, justice, and mercy. To see stuff like this article disturbs me. So much of what passes for Christianity these days seems really to be missing important points of Jesus’ life and teachings.

The problem, of course, is not with God. There’s nothing wrong with God. The problems are our concepts and ideas about God and the lengths to which we are willing to try to force those concepts and ideas upon others.

I’m especially saddened when I read comments, like those to which the article refers, that say some Christians want “to bring about the return of Christ.” I believe that such views about “the return of Christ” result from reading the New Testament book of Revelation strictly as just a prophecy of things to come. I don’t see it that way. I read Revelation as talking at least as much about things that have already happened as about predicted future events.

Thus, I don’t think we have to do anything to “bring about the return of Christ.” Christ Jesus is right here, right now. He is in the face of every person you meet, in every being, whether animal, vegetable, or mineral. If we don’t see Christ in the here and now, it is because we are blind to the possibility. If we don’t see Jesus now, we won’t be able to see Him later. Indeed, focusing on some expected glorious “return” of Jesus deems to ignore the presence of Jesus today–the living Jesus who forms the basis of Christian belief.

Of course, it might be tempting to focus on the “return of Christ” because doing so allows us to defer dealing with Jesus in the present moment. We humans can find all sorts of reasons to procrastinate; it would seem especially easy to drag our feet about an event we expect might happen centuries or even millenniums from now. However, to do that, we have to ignore the words of Jesus Himself when He said He would be with us always. (Matthew 28:20. Larry Van Pelt, a Florida-based artist, has presented this teaching pictorially at his Jesus With You Always Web site.

How can we see Jesus? All we need to do is follow His commandment. Jesus told us to love one another as He has loved us; to love our neighbor as ourself. (That commandment necessarily includes loving ourselves very genuinely and deeply.) Once we do that, we will see that Jesus is already here. Thus, we will realize that we need not “bring about the return of Christ” because Christ is already here; He is “Emmanuel, God with us.”

A few years ago, in December, I returned home from an enjoyable week-long vacation on the Florida Gulf Coast. Since 1999, I’ve gone there often in December to get my boost of sunshine before the winter starts. (I really crave sunlight during the winter.)

After I landed at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport and picked up my bag, I made my way to the rapid transit/subway stop where I used to take the train home from the airport. As I was walking down the long, brightly lit corridor that leads from the airport terminal to the parking lots and the train stop, I heard a saxophone playing the Christian Christmas hymn, “O Come All Ye Faithful.”

I was walking slowly, carrying my suitcase and my gym bag (containing a set of headgear and boxing gloves; I used to train at the 4th Street boxing gym in St. Petersburg while I was down there). I blithely glided down the floor of the corridor, feeling kind of like an air hockey puck in very slow motion. I listened to the familiar phrases of the music and felt myself grinning. In no time at all, I found myself humming and then singing the words, ever more loudly, hearing the acoustic formation of the corridor amplify and complete my song, making my baritone voice sound much more powerful and magnificent than it otherwise would (which, while reasonably pleasant, isn’t magnificent!).

As I reached the end of that bright, glass block-tiled corridor, I was in a state of bliss. My bags were heavy, but they felt as light as air. I was warm, safe, and feeling strangely at home at a major world airport. Even more movingly, though, I was right there near the saxophone player. He was amazing.

The musician looked to be poor, perhaps even homeless, but he radiated a peace and contentedness that I don’t see very often. He was an African-American man who was probably in his mid 50s. He looked strangely familiar, although I was sure I had never seen him before.

He had the case for his instrument open so that people who passed by him could drop in a few coins or a few dollars. I smiled at him and reached into my pocket and gave him whatever was there–a few dollars and some coins. It wasn’t much. I looked at the man and said, “Your playing is beautiful. Thanks so much for what you’re doing here. You’re cheering up many people who probably don’t even realize they’re being cheered!”

The man smiled easily at me and said, softly, “It’s no big deal.” I answered the man, “Yes, it’s a very big deal. You’re doing a lot here. Thank you.”

As I spoke, this man took in my words attentively. He looked so serene. I wondered what it could be that gave this man so much peace when, by all outward appearances, he looked very poor. It didn’t require much imagination to conclude that he might have had no permanent residence and had passed his nights sleeping at the airport, on the train, or even out on the street. Despite my dismal and pitying assessment of him, there was no doubt about it: this simple busker beamed with a tranquility and joy that I could only dream about.

Waking me from my brief reverie, the man replied, “Have a blessed Christmas.” I said to him, “May you have an awesome Christmas, too.” I turned and continued on my way.

As I approached the moving sidewalk a few yards from where the man had resumed playing his saxophone cheerfully, I realized what had happened and who he was.

Although I love to walk and I walk a lot, I think moving sidewalks are a blast. (Yeah, I’m a little boy in a grown man’s body.) I stepped onto the contraption and put down my big suitcase, as I kept my gym bag slung over my shoulder. I unzipped my black leather jacket because I was feeling a bit too warm inside the building as the moving sidewalk carried me closer to the train stop. I took off my baseball cap and brushed my hair back, then replaced the cap on my head so it was at a slight angle.

As I rode the moving sidewalk, I realized who the man was. The man was Jesus, the Christ, the one whose birthday everyone was gearing up to celebrate at a pace that quickened with each passing day. For just a moment, I felt the impulse to run back the wrong way on the moving sidewalk, sit at the guy’s feet, and seek some pearls of wisdom. But I decided against such an extreme deviation from social convention and simply continued on my way, still grinning from ear to ear, forever enriched by the encounter.

Category: Christmas, Jesus, Stories | No Comments »
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