I had occasion a while back to consider the possible intersection of three disjointed stories. Two of the stories are true while the other is a familiar internet parable.
The first story is true, and it happened 4 or 5 years ago.
I left work for lunch one day to run errands and stopped in at Quizno’s for a sandwich. At the table in front of me were a man and his two sons, one high school aged and the other in college. The older son had his left leg in a rather impressive looking contraption. Steel bars, elastic straps and metal pins penetrating the skin held his leg in a semi-extended position resting on a chair in the aisle.
I sat and watched the family. They interacted like most father/son/son families—sometimes sometimes talking about school or sports, but mostly concentrating on eating. A little while later, two men entered the restaurant, one pushing the other in a wheelchair. The man in the wheelchair wore a baseball cap, khakis and a plaid button down. He recognized the family in front of me, and his friend pushed him to their table, then went and stood in line to order. By their conversation, I could tell they were more like acquaintances than close friends. The man in the wheelchair talked mostly to the older son, and they spoke at length about the football game in which the boy received his knee injury. The man in the wheelchair had seen the game on TV, and they talked about play after play in that game until they eventually talked about the play that caused the knee injury. "When you went down, I knew you were hurt," he said. They talked about the surgeries that ensued and the rehab.
That’s when the man smiled and said, "But, at least yours will heal." At that, still smiling, he raised his ball cap off of his head and showed them a large depression in his skull. There was a football-shaped crater in the man's head probably 6 inches across, and it was clear that a portion of the man's skull and brain were just missing.
He put his cap back on, still smiling, and said, "Just one of God's inscrutable blessings."
I thought, “Are you kidding? A blessing? A big chunk of your head is missing, and you call that a blessing? Have you lost your mind?”
Then, I remembered: He called it an inscrutable blessing, and that’s when I realized…I needed a dictionary.
It turns out that inscrutable means that something is unfathomable, incomprehensible, inexplicable or enigmatic. It’s something that can’t be explained.
So, this man who has suffered a traumatic head injury that apparently left him wheelchair bound sees the crater in his head as a blessing, though he can’t explain why it’s a blessing. He was able to take what most people would call a debilitating tragedy and instead, see it as a blessing, and then actually praise God for it where most might blame God for it. It was truly awesome to witness such faith. And, it must be faith because he called it inscrutable. Basically, he knew it was a blessing from God, but he didn't fully understand it. He had to accept without evidence that this was a blessing from God.
Could I have enough faith to say, "God, thank you for my cranial crater that's left me wheelchair bound?" Could I see the loss of a limb or even a job as a blessing? To be honest, I'd rather not have to find out. I prefer my blessings to be of the apparent or obvious variety.
Now, here is the second disjointed story.
I sometimes tell my daughter, Sarah, to 'freeze' for no apparent reason. When I yell 'freeze' or 'stop', she's expected to stop dead in her tracks and not move. We might be walking down the sidewalk or a running on the playground, and I'll call for her to freeze. Sometimes she stops; sometimes she takes a couple of extra steps. But, hey, she's a kid.
My wife asked me once why I do that, and I told her, "I'm training her. Right now, it's a game to her. I say 'freeze' and she freezes. But, if there is ever a reason she needs to stop on a dime—either a car is racing toward her or a piano is falling from the sky or there's a snake in her path or whatever—I need to know that she will do what I say reflexively."
Now, hold that thought. On to the third story.
There was a story passed around the internet about a man who decided to give himself completely to God and become His servant. God showed him a large boulder in the road and told him to push it. The man pushed and pushed all day, but it didn't move an inch. The next day, he pushed more and still the boulder didn't move. He continued pushing for many months, and still the boulder didn't budge. God appeared to him again, and the man fell on his face saying, "I've failed you, Lord. You asked me to push this boulder, and I've failed to move it even an inch."
The Lord replied, "I asked you to push the boulder. I didn't ask you to move it." The man looked up, and the Lord continued, "When you came to me you were weak, thin and pale. You weren’t strong enough to do the work I have for you. Now, look at yourself. Your arms are strong, your back is powerful, and your legs are like oak trees. Your skin is tanned against the sun. By faith, you have become capable to do my work. NOW, you are ready to serve Me."
So, putting all this together, my daughter is in training—she plays a silly game with me without apparent purpose so I'll know she'll be ready if the day comes when 'freeze' is important. The man in the parable was in training—doing a task that was without apparent purpose so that when the time came, he would be ready to serve the Lord. I saw that man in the wheelchair and I think he must have been in training a long time, because his faith was so strong that, when the time came, he believed by faith that God's hand was woven into his tragedy/blessing, though he could not explain it.
So now, I’m working through the mental gyrations to a new perspective of faith. I used to see it as a choice. I choose to believe in God, and that all good things come from him. Now, I’m starting to think that faith is more like a muscle that needs to be exercised to be strengthened.
Maybe God throws things at us that we first view as a curse/tragedy (miscarriage, congenital hearing loss, diabetes, etc.). And at first, we bemoan the event; we see it as a curse. We think, how could God do this? It reminds me of the Israelites escaping from Egypt into the desert and complaining to Moses, “Why have you led us into the desert to die? We could have stayed in Egypt and died there, and it would’ve been a lot less trouble.”
Our first instinct is to take a tragedy and see the curse in it. But, maybe the more we see the blessings in our tragedies, the more we are able to strengthen our faithius maximus muscle so that one day, by faith alone, we see (or maybe seek) the blessings in everything.
Whether it's a screaming child that we can't calm down, a traumatic head injury, the loss of a loved one, a promotion, winning the lottery, sunsets or thunderstorms, if we see through the veil of the apparent curse and have faith that it’s part of God’s plan, then maybe we can look at our own personal tragedies, smile and say, "Just one of God's inscrutable blessings."
Monday, September 26, 2011
P U S H
A man was sleeping at night in his cabin when suddenly his room filled with light, and God appeared. The Lord told the man he had work for him to do, and showed him a large rock in front of his cabin.
The Lord explained that the man was to push against the rock with all his might. So, this the man did, day after day. For many years he toiled from sun up to sun down, his shoulders set squarely against the cold, massive surface of the unmoving rock, pushing with all of his might. Each night the man returned to his cabin sore and worn out, feeling that his whole day had been spent in vain.
Since the man was showing discouragement, the Adversary (Satan) decided to enter the picture by placing thoughts into the weary mind: "You have been pushing against that rock for a long time, and it hasn't moved." Thus, he gave the man the impression that the task was impossible and that he was a failure. These thoughts discourage0d and disheartened the man. Satan said, "Why kill yourself over this? Just put in your time, giving just the minimum effort; and that will be good enough." That's what the weary man planned to do, but decided to make it a matter of prayer and to take his troubled thoughts to the Lord.
"Lord," he said, "I have labored long and hard in your service, putting all my strength to do that which you have asked. Yet, after all this time, I have not even budged that rock by half a millimeter. What is wrong? Why am I failing?"
The Lord responded compassionately, "My friend, when I asked you to serve Me and you accepted, I told you that your task was to push against the rock with all of your strength, which you have done. Never once did I mention to you that I expected you to move it. Your task was to push. And now you come to Me with your strength spent, thinking that you have failed. But, is that really so? Look at yourself. Your arms are strong and muscled, your back sinewy and brown; your hands are callused from constant pressure, your legs have become massive and hard. Through opposition you have grown much, and your abilities now surpass that which you used to have.
"True, you haven't moved the rock. But your calling was to be obedient and to push and to exercise your faith and trust in My wisdom. That you have done. Now I, my friend, will move the rock."
At times, when we hear a word from God, we tend to use our own intellect to decipher what He wants, when actually what God wants is just a simple obedience and faith in Him. By all means, exercise the faith that moves mountains, but know that it is still God who moves mountains.
When everything seems to go wrong .. just P. U. S. H.!
When the job gets you down .. just P. U. S. H.!
When people don't react the way you think they should .. just P. U. S. H
When your money is "gone" and the bills are due.. just P. U. S. H!
When people just don't understand you ... just P. U. S. H.
P = Pray U = Until S = Something H = Happens
The Lord explained that the man was to push against the rock with all his might. So, this the man did, day after day. For many years he toiled from sun up to sun down, his shoulders set squarely against the cold, massive surface of the unmoving rock, pushing with all of his might. Each night the man returned to his cabin sore and worn out, feeling that his whole day had been spent in vain.
Since the man was showing discouragement, the Adversary (Satan) decided to enter the picture by placing thoughts into the weary mind: "You have been pushing against that rock for a long time, and it hasn't moved." Thus, he gave the man the impression that the task was impossible and that he was a failure. These thoughts discourage0d and disheartened the man. Satan said, "Why kill yourself over this? Just put in your time, giving just the minimum effort; and that will be good enough." That's what the weary man planned to do, but decided to make it a matter of prayer and to take his troubled thoughts to the Lord.
"Lord," he said, "I have labored long and hard in your service, putting all my strength to do that which you have asked. Yet, after all this time, I have not even budged that rock by half a millimeter. What is wrong? Why am I failing?"
The Lord responded compassionately, "My friend, when I asked you to serve Me and you accepted, I told you that your task was to push against the rock with all of your strength, which you have done. Never once did I mention to you that I expected you to move it. Your task was to push. And now you come to Me with your strength spent, thinking that you have failed. But, is that really so? Look at yourself. Your arms are strong and muscled, your back sinewy and brown; your hands are callused from constant pressure, your legs have become massive and hard. Through opposition you have grown much, and your abilities now surpass that which you used to have.
"True, you haven't moved the rock. But your calling was to be obedient and to push and to exercise your faith and trust in My wisdom. That you have done. Now I, my friend, will move the rock."
At times, when we hear a word from God, we tend to use our own intellect to decipher what He wants, when actually what God wants is just a simple obedience and faith in Him. By all means, exercise the faith that moves mountains, but know that it is still God who moves mountains.
When everything seems to go wrong .. just P. U. S. H.!
When the job gets you down .. just P. U. S. H.!
When people don't react the way you think they should .. just P. U. S. H
When your money is "gone" and the bills are due.. just P. U. S. H!
When people just don't understand you ... just P. U. S. H.
P = Pray U = Until S = Something H = Happens
Chicken Necks
My dad made great barbecued chicken. On so many Sundays, Mom would bring home a chicken from the grocery store and quarter it. She would make the barbecue sauce, and from there, my dad took over.
He would pull out the barbecue pit, which was once a 55-gallon drum, and brush down the grill. Then, he would pour briquettes into the barbecue pit, soak them in lighter fluid and light them. Once the flames died down and the coals turned white, he went to work slathering the barbecue sauce on the chicken, flipping the pieces at just the right time, and cooking it to perfection.
When everything was ready, we would sit at the table, say the blessing and start passing food. Dad would always call dibs on the chicken neck and back. He said those were his favorite pieces, which was fine for us since we liked drumsticks, thighs, breasts and wings. In fact, we thought Dad was a little strange for liking those parts, but we also knew he was "very old," and that, growing up in the depression, he must have acquired a taste for the stringy, less-than-succulent meat. After all, his tastes were quite strange for many foods.
He also seemed to have a penchant for the flavor of burnt foods. When Mom overcooked a few of the biscuits, for instance, those are the ones he would grab. He said he liked them because "when you eat them, they'll make your hair black." Dad already had black hair, so I couldn't understand why the biscuits were necessary. On the other hand, though he ate black bottom biscuits routinely, his hair was becoming a lighter shade of black each year. I'm sure that if we would have challenged him with, "Gee, Dad. Your hair is turning gray no matter how many black bottom biscuits you eat," he would reply, "Just imagine how gray I'd be if I weren't eating those biscuits."
So, growing up in the depression altered my dad's taste in a very convenient way. What we didn't like, he seemed to love.
We were a rural family, and didn't have a lot of money, so eating out was a rare treat. I remember going to KFC one time. I dreaded it. I fully expected my dad to order for himself, "2 chicken necks, a back, and do you have any burnt biscuits? To drink, I'll just have water, so long as it's rust colored."
When he got to the counter, to my surprise, he ordered a breast! "My dad eats white meat?" I just didn't get it. Then I realized, KFC doesn't sell necks and backs. He was just settling for what was on the menu. He suffered through his big, juicy, meaty pieces of chicken without complaining once.
One of the many blessings I've received since being married is the insight I've gained into my father's mind. He loved to joke and laugh, and he wore his frustrations on his sleeve. Yet, he kept a lot inside, too. What a marvelous gift he gave me in chicken necks.
I know now that dad didn't really like chicken necks or backs or black bottom biscuits. He preferred exactly what he ordered at KFC - juicy white meat, fluffy biscuits and a soda. These are the things he sacrificed so that his family could have the best parts of the chicken, the un-burnt biscuits, and the last bit of soda out of the bottle.
At first, I felt sorry for him having to suffer through stringy bits of meat and pungent biscuits. How was he able to tolerate picking little bits of dry meat off of tiny bones knowing that he was the one who made the money that bought the chicken in the first place. How sad that he quietly nibbled the necks, backs and blackened biscuits without complaining. What a sacrifice he made for his family.
Then I realized something about my dad - something I could only understand once I got married and became a dad myself. Necks and backs were not his favorite parts of the chicken. They were his least favorite. Burnt biscuits tasted as bad to him as they do to anyone. But, as he sat at the head of the table, nibbling the stringy neck and back meat, he watched my older brothers enjoying thighs, my mom eating a breast, me eating drumsticks and my younger brother eating wings. How satisfying must that have been for him seeing his family enjoying their meals. Necks & backs must have been ambrosia to him. How sweet must those black bottom biscuits have been to him knowing his family was enjoying the best parts of the meal. If he had taken a breast and left the neck for one of us, he would have gagged on it.
Almost two decades after my dad's passing, he's still teaching me life lessons. I've always thought of sacrifice as having to tolerate the least, the worst, and the dregs so that others could enjoy the first, the most, and the best. It always had a negative connotation to me. Now, I understand that sacrifice is sweet, sacrifice is succulent, sacrifice is satisfying. Sacrifice is giving the best of what you have to the ones you love the most.
This realization makes me wonder about God's sacrifice of His own Son. Surely, He gave His best to the ones He loves the most. My dad sacrificed thighs and breasts by feasting on necks and black-bottom biscuits. Surely, he delighted in every bite knowing his family was benefiting from his sacrifice. How did God feel as He watched His Son being tortured, pierced and humiliated? Was it agony to see His Son killed by the people for whom He was being sacrificed, or was it ecstasy to Him? Was God's sacrifice of His only Son as sweet to Him as chicken necks were to my dad?
It was to me.
He would pull out the barbecue pit, which was once a 55-gallon drum, and brush down the grill. Then, he would pour briquettes into the barbecue pit, soak them in lighter fluid and light them. Once the flames died down and the coals turned white, he went to work slathering the barbecue sauce on the chicken, flipping the pieces at just the right time, and cooking it to perfection.
When everything was ready, we would sit at the table, say the blessing and start passing food. Dad would always call dibs on the chicken neck and back. He said those were his favorite pieces, which was fine for us since we liked drumsticks, thighs, breasts and wings. In fact, we thought Dad was a little strange for liking those parts, but we also knew he was "very old," and that, growing up in the depression, he must have acquired a taste for the stringy, less-than-succulent meat. After all, his tastes were quite strange for many foods.
He also seemed to have a penchant for the flavor of burnt foods. When Mom overcooked a few of the biscuits, for instance, those are the ones he would grab. He said he liked them because "when you eat them, they'll make your hair black." Dad already had black hair, so I couldn't understand why the biscuits were necessary. On the other hand, though he ate black bottom biscuits routinely, his hair was becoming a lighter shade of black each year. I'm sure that if we would have challenged him with, "Gee, Dad. Your hair is turning gray no matter how many black bottom biscuits you eat," he would reply, "Just imagine how gray I'd be if I weren't eating those biscuits."
So, growing up in the depression altered my dad's taste in a very convenient way. What we didn't like, he seemed to love.
We were a rural family, and didn't have a lot of money, so eating out was a rare treat. I remember going to KFC one time. I dreaded it. I fully expected my dad to order for himself, "2 chicken necks, a back, and do you have any burnt biscuits? To drink, I'll just have water, so long as it's rust colored."
When he got to the counter, to my surprise, he ordered a breast! "My dad eats white meat?" I just didn't get it. Then I realized, KFC doesn't sell necks and backs. He was just settling for what was on the menu. He suffered through his big, juicy, meaty pieces of chicken without complaining once.
One of the many blessings I've received since being married is the insight I've gained into my father's mind. He loved to joke and laugh, and he wore his frustrations on his sleeve. Yet, he kept a lot inside, too. What a marvelous gift he gave me in chicken necks.
I know now that dad didn't really like chicken necks or backs or black bottom biscuits. He preferred exactly what he ordered at KFC - juicy white meat, fluffy biscuits and a soda. These are the things he sacrificed so that his family could have the best parts of the chicken, the un-burnt biscuits, and the last bit of soda out of the bottle.
At first, I felt sorry for him having to suffer through stringy bits of meat and pungent biscuits. How was he able to tolerate picking little bits of dry meat off of tiny bones knowing that he was the one who made the money that bought the chicken in the first place. How sad that he quietly nibbled the necks, backs and blackened biscuits without complaining. What a sacrifice he made for his family.
Then I realized something about my dad - something I could only understand once I got married and became a dad myself. Necks and backs were not his favorite parts of the chicken. They were his least favorite. Burnt biscuits tasted as bad to him as they do to anyone. But, as he sat at the head of the table, nibbling the stringy neck and back meat, he watched my older brothers enjoying thighs, my mom eating a breast, me eating drumsticks and my younger brother eating wings. How satisfying must that have been for him seeing his family enjoying their meals. Necks & backs must have been ambrosia to him. How sweet must those black bottom biscuits have been to him knowing his family was enjoying the best parts of the meal. If he had taken a breast and left the neck for one of us, he would have gagged on it.
Almost two decades after my dad's passing, he's still teaching me life lessons. I've always thought of sacrifice as having to tolerate the least, the worst, and the dregs so that others could enjoy the first, the most, and the best. It always had a negative connotation to me. Now, I understand that sacrifice is sweet, sacrifice is succulent, sacrifice is satisfying. Sacrifice is giving the best of what you have to the ones you love the most.
This realization makes me wonder about God's sacrifice of His own Son. Surely, He gave His best to the ones He loves the most. My dad sacrificed thighs and breasts by feasting on necks and black-bottom biscuits. Surely, he delighted in every bite knowing his family was benefiting from his sacrifice. How did God feel as He watched His Son being tortured, pierced and humiliated? Was it agony to see His Son killed by the people for whom He was being sacrificed, or was it ecstasy to Him? Was God's sacrifice of His only Son as sweet to Him as chicken necks were to my dad?
It was to me.
Grace
The Goal
Standing in the lobby of the bloquería waiting to buy a few cinder blocks for his home, Pedro's eyes wandered across the walls, the floor, and the furniture like a dog sniffing new surroundings. Pedro was twenty, and had just purchased a small plot of land in the Mexican desert. For the past two weeks, he had slept under a lean-to shelter made from two sticks and a small tarpaulin. He was very happy to have saved enough pesos to purchase a few cinder blocks, which would begin the wall of his new home. It was a modest beginning, but he was proud of this accomplishment.
Only a few months before, Pedro had found work as a laborer in a construction company. It was backbreaking work under the hot Mexican sun. Each night, he would come home tired, dirty and sore. But, he was gainfully employed, and he was saving money a bit at a time.
Now, with a handful of pesos in his pocket, he waited anxiously to place his order for a few cinderblocks. As he waited, he noticed a stack of magazines on the counter. He pushed the top few aside taking little notice of them.
And then, he froze. The muscles in his face relaxed, and his mouth opened slightly. His eyes fixed on the photograph on the cover of the magazine. He blinked once and began to breathe deeply and quickly. He was awestruck by what he saw. The photograph was so foreign to him - so exotic - that he could scarcely believe something so beautiful truly existed.
There, on the cover of this travel magazine was a picture of a huge, white luxury cruise ship. It was clean and elegant, and it almost glowed against the turquoise lagoon in which it floated. Pedro had never even dreamed of anything so beautiful.
It was that moment that changed Pedro's life. As he stood staring at the picture of the cruise ship, he etched the picture into his memory and vowed that from that day forth, he would work hard, save his money, and someday take a cruise on that ship.
Working Hard Toward The Goal
From that moment on, Pedro went to work each day visualizing the picture of the cruise ship. In his mind, he traced each curve of the rail, peered through each porthole, and walked each deck. Whenever the heat became unbearable, he would remember the picture on the magazine cover, and would work with renewed energy. Whenever his limbs were too tired to move, he found new strength in the goal he worked toward. Whatever weakness he had to overcome, he simply overcame because he knew that the only way to achieve this goal was through steadfast perseverance.
Neither his eventual marriage nor his children dissuaded him from his goal. His wife and kids understood and supported Pedro's ultimate goal in life. They knew that he worked long hours to be able to provide for his family, and to save a little each week - a cachet that would someday pay for passage on that gleaming white ship.
Despair
Thirty years after Pedro first saw that magazine cover, he sat alone in his cinderblock house in the middle of the desert. Leading a frugal life, he had only a table and a chair, and a mat on the floor to sleep on. Any excessive furniture would have put him that much farther away from his cruise.
He sat at the table staring in disbelief at a small stack of bills. His eyes were sad. He barely breathed. After thirty years of toiling and saving, he had amassed only a paltry $34.
Where had the money gone, he wondered. He did the math over and over, calculating his wages, his budgeted expenses, and the number of years he had worked, and it just seemed there should be more money on the table.
But, he remembered that he had gotten married, and weddings cost money. After he was married, his widowed mother passed away, and funerals cost money. His wife became pregnant, and their first son, Jorge, became sick at age two and required medicine each day, and of course, medicine costs money. A year later, Jorge succumbed to his illness, and funerals cost money. His wife died giving birth to his daughter, and another funeral ate into Pedro's cruise funds. His daughter, Elena, grew to be a fine woman, and was married when she turned twenty-two. Weddings, of course, cost money.
Upon reflection, his life was quite hard, and the cards seemed to be stacked against him saving any money.
Regardless of the reasons, Pedro still had only a mere $34 after working toward his goal for thirty years - barely more than a $1 per year. Sadness enveloped his heart as he simmered in a quagmire of despair. "At this rate," he thought despondently, "I'll never be able to afford passage on that ship."
Stranger Arrives Bearing a Gift
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. It startled Pedro. No one had ever knocked on his door before. His house was miles from the smallest town, and none of his friends ever came that far out to visit.
The door opened, and a tall, smiling gringo stepped inside and said, "Hello, Pedro." Pedro, already astonished that he had a visitor, was dumbfounded that the stranger knew his name. The man appeared somewhat younger than Pedro. He was clean-shaven, and his hair was neatly combed. He wore a white suit, but did not seem to be sweating. Strange, for a gringo.
"Pedro, I bring you good news," continued the stranger. "My name is Anthropist; you can call me Phil. You know that cruise you've always wanted to go on?"
Pedro's thoughts swirled in his mind as if driven by a tornado. How could this stranger know about the cruise?
Phil reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and extracted a small, rectangular piece of paper and placed it on the table in front of Pedro. It was a ticket - passage for one on the huge, white luxury liner that had been etched into his mind for thirty years!
Elation
Moments ago, he thought he would never be able to go on the cruise. And suddenly, his lifelong goal had been given to him. He stared at the ticket in disbelief, and then looked up at Phil with an expression that screamed, Why?
Phil just smiled contently.
Again, he looked at the ticket, and back up at Phil. This time, his expression asked, Is this for real?
Phil continued smiling, and nodded once.
A smile began to form on Pedro's face as he looked at the ticket again. This was too good to be true, though. There must be a catch. He looked again at Phil, his face exuding suspicion.
Phil cocked his head and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, No strings attached.
He picked up the ticket off the table. It was a dream come true.
Too Dirty
Pedro held the ticket with both hands. An excited smile flourished on his face. The ticket was clean and elegant, and it almost glowed. He looked up at Phil. He was so clean and elegant that he almost glowed. But, something looked out of place, and it was neither the ticket nor Phil. Pedro realized that it was he himself that didn't fit in.
His heart sank, and he said to Phil, "Señor, thank you very much, but I cannot go on this cruise. Look at me. I am filthy. I haven't bathed in more than a year. The dirt in which I have worked for these 30 years is ground in to my skin and has stained my fingernails. I have fleas and lice. I am wearing the only shirt I own and it is threadbare. These torn pants are my only pants, and these, my only pair of shoes, have holes in their soles. To go on a cruise like this, one must be clean and well dressed. I have only $34, and that is not enough even to buy the wardrobe that I would need.
"Besides," he continued, "the people who go on these cruises are well bred. They are clean and well mannered. I don't look like them. I don't speak like them. I don't act like them. Even if I have a ticket, I still have not raised myself up to the class of people who will board the ship. I wouldn't even know anyone on board."
Phil smiled at Pedro reassuringly. "Pedro," he said. "There are showers on the boat." He paused a second, then continued. "And, the dress code is very casual these days. You can wear what you've got on, though most people wear the complimentary robes on board. And as for you not being like the others - guess what. They don't look like you, either. They don't speak like you do, and they don't act like you do. Yet, you'll fit in just fine. Besides, you'll know at least one person on board - I'll be there, and you know me."
Didn't Earn It
Pedro believed Phil, and the possibility of going on the cruise became stronger. But, he hesitated. Something else stood between him and the gangplank for which he had yearned for so long.
"Señor, thank you for the gift, but I cannot accept." It hurt Pedro to speak those words. "You see, thirty years ago, I set for myself the goal of earning enough money to go on a cruise. So far, I have only saved $34. I have not yet earned this ticket, so I cannot accept your wonderful gift. I will work harder, and someday I will have earned my passage on the cruise ship. Until then, I do not deserve this ticket."
Pedro placed the ticket on the table and stared at it as if to say goodbye. He was, after all, a proud man, and would not take charity. When he looked up, he was astonished to see how Phil's face had changed. Gone were the kind, compassionate grin and the smiling eyes. Now, his lips were pursed, his eyebrows strained, and his eyes glared at Pedro, who was now becoming a bit frightened.
Phil placed both palms on the table and leaned in front of Pedro's face. "Pedro!" he said, as if trying to awaken him from a coma. "In thirty years, you have saved only $34. If you work the rest of your life - if you work, and toil, and save for a thousand lifetimes - you will never be able to afford a ticket for this cruise on your own. You will never have enough money to buy this ticket; you will die working toward a goal you can never reach on your own. The only way you will ever be able to go on this cruise is if you accept this ticket as a gift."
The words cut deeply into Pedro's pride, not because they were mean-spirited words or because they were lies - but because they were the truth. Pedro knew that Phil was right, that at this rate, he would die never fulfilling his life's ambition.
He felt foolish. He now knew that he had wasted his life on an unattainable dream. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. His hands fell limply into his lap. He felt dejected, like he was nothing - less than a single grain of sand in his vast desert homeland.
Yet, there was Phil - clean, elegant, and almost glowing - standing in Pedro's own home in the middle of the desert. How could Pedro be nothing if this man had come from so far away to personally deliver this gift? His mind struggled with this dichotomy as Phil pushed himself up from the table, stood and turned toward the door.
For Everyone
From Pedro's doorway, Phil turned and said, "Don't be too hard on yourself, Pedro." The compassionate smile and glistening eyes had returned. "You've heard of Bill Gates? He has more money than anyone else in the world. He couldn't buy his own ticket, either. And, all those folks over in the Middle East with all that oil - they came up short, too. Kings, queens, moguls - none of them could buy their own ticket. But, I really wanted them to go on the cruise with me, so I bought all of their tickets for them, just like I bought this ticket just for you. All you have to do is accept it.
"And by the way," Phil smiled. "It's a really great boat, and the cruise lasts - an eternity."
Phil smiled, winked and waved, and before Pedro could ask how he had gotten that scar in the palm of his hand, he was gone.
Standing in the lobby of the bloquería waiting to buy a few cinder blocks for his home, Pedro's eyes wandered across the walls, the floor, and the furniture like a dog sniffing new surroundings. Pedro was twenty, and had just purchased a small plot of land in the Mexican desert. For the past two weeks, he had slept under a lean-to shelter made from two sticks and a small tarpaulin. He was very happy to have saved enough pesos to purchase a few cinder blocks, which would begin the wall of his new home. It was a modest beginning, but he was proud of this accomplishment.
Only a few months before, Pedro had found work as a laborer in a construction company. It was backbreaking work under the hot Mexican sun. Each night, he would come home tired, dirty and sore. But, he was gainfully employed, and he was saving money a bit at a time.
Now, with a handful of pesos in his pocket, he waited anxiously to place his order for a few cinderblocks. As he waited, he noticed a stack of magazines on the counter. He pushed the top few aside taking little notice of them.
And then, he froze. The muscles in his face relaxed, and his mouth opened slightly. His eyes fixed on the photograph on the cover of the magazine. He blinked once and began to breathe deeply and quickly. He was awestruck by what he saw. The photograph was so foreign to him - so exotic - that he could scarcely believe something so beautiful truly existed.
There, on the cover of this travel magazine was a picture of a huge, white luxury cruise ship. It was clean and elegant, and it almost glowed against the turquoise lagoon in which it floated. Pedro had never even dreamed of anything so beautiful.
It was that moment that changed Pedro's life. As he stood staring at the picture of the cruise ship, he etched the picture into his memory and vowed that from that day forth, he would work hard, save his money, and someday take a cruise on that ship.
Working Hard Toward The Goal
From that moment on, Pedro went to work each day visualizing the picture of the cruise ship. In his mind, he traced each curve of the rail, peered through each porthole, and walked each deck. Whenever the heat became unbearable, he would remember the picture on the magazine cover, and would work with renewed energy. Whenever his limbs were too tired to move, he found new strength in the goal he worked toward. Whatever weakness he had to overcome, he simply overcame because he knew that the only way to achieve this goal was through steadfast perseverance.
Neither his eventual marriage nor his children dissuaded him from his goal. His wife and kids understood and supported Pedro's ultimate goal in life. They knew that he worked long hours to be able to provide for his family, and to save a little each week - a cachet that would someday pay for passage on that gleaming white ship.
Despair
Thirty years after Pedro first saw that magazine cover, he sat alone in his cinderblock house in the middle of the desert. Leading a frugal life, he had only a table and a chair, and a mat on the floor to sleep on. Any excessive furniture would have put him that much farther away from his cruise.
He sat at the table staring in disbelief at a small stack of bills. His eyes were sad. He barely breathed. After thirty years of toiling and saving, he had amassed only a paltry $34.
Where had the money gone, he wondered. He did the math over and over, calculating his wages, his budgeted expenses, and the number of years he had worked, and it just seemed there should be more money on the table.
But, he remembered that he had gotten married, and weddings cost money. After he was married, his widowed mother passed away, and funerals cost money. His wife became pregnant, and their first son, Jorge, became sick at age two and required medicine each day, and of course, medicine costs money. A year later, Jorge succumbed to his illness, and funerals cost money. His wife died giving birth to his daughter, and another funeral ate into Pedro's cruise funds. His daughter, Elena, grew to be a fine woman, and was married when she turned twenty-two. Weddings, of course, cost money.
Upon reflection, his life was quite hard, and the cards seemed to be stacked against him saving any money.
Regardless of the reasons, Pedro still had only a mere $34 after working toward his goal for thirty years - barely more than a $1 per year. Sadness enveloped his heart as he simmered in a quagmire of despair. "At this rate," he thought despondently, "I'll never be able to afford passage on that ship."
Stranger Arrives Bearing a Gift
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. It startled Pedro. No one had ever knocked on his door before. His house was miles from the smallest town, and none of his friends ever came that far out to visit.
The door opened, and a tall, smiling gringo stepped inside and said, "Hello, Pedro." Pedro, already astonished that he had a visitor, was dumbfounded that the stranger knew his name. The man appeared somewhat younger than Pedro. He was clean-shaven, and his hair was neatly combed. He wore a white suit, but did not seem to be sweating. Strange, for a gringo.
"Pedro, I bring you good news," continued the stranger. "My name is Anthropist; you can call me Phil. You know that cruise you've always wanted to go on?"
Pedro's thoughts swirled in his mind as if driven by a tornado. How could this stranger know about the cruise?
Phil reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and extracted a small, rectangular piece of paper and placed it on the table in front of Pedro. It was a ticket - passage for one on the huge, white luxury liner that had been etched into his mind for thirty years!
Elation
Moments ago, he thought he would never be able to go on the cruise. And suddenly, his lifelong goal had been given to him. He stared at the ticket in disbelief, and then looked up at Phil with an expression that screamed, Why?
Phil just smiled contently.
Again, he looked at the ticket, and back up at Phil. This time, his expression asked, Is this for real?
Phil continued smiling, and nodded once.
A smile began to form on Pedro's face as he looked at the ticket again. This was too good to be true, though. There must be a catch. He looked again at Phil, his face exuding suspicion.
Phil cocked his head and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, No strings attached.
He picked up the ticket off the table. It was a dream come true.
Too Dirty
Pedro held the ticket with both hands. An excited smile flourished on his face. The ticket was clean and elegant, and it almost glowed. He looked up at Phil. He was so clean and elegant that he almost glowed. But, something looked out of place, and it was neither the ticket nor Phil. Pedro realized that it was he himself that didn't fit in.
His heart sank, and he said to Phil, "Señor, thank you very much, but I cannot go on this cruise. Look at me. I am filthy. I haven't bathed in more than a year. The dirt in which I have worked for these 30 years is ground in to my skin and has stained my fingernails. I have fleas and lice. I am wearing the only shirt I own and it is threadbare. These torn pants are my only pants, and these, my only pair of shoes, have holes in their soles. To go on a cruise like this, one must be clean and well dressed. I have only $34, and that is not enough even to buy the wardrobe that I would need.
"Besides," he continued, "the people who go on these cruises are well bred. They are clean and well mannered. I don't look like them. I don't speak like them. I don't act like them. Even if I have a ticket, I still have not raised myself up to the class of people who will board the ship. I wouldn't even know anyone on board."
Phil smiled at Pedro reassuringly. "Pedro," he said. "There are showers on the boat." He paused a second, then continued. "And, the dress code is very casual these days. You can wear what you've got on, though most people wear the complimentary robes on board. And as for you not being like the others - guess what. They don't look like you, either. They don't speak like you do, and they don't act like you do. Yet, you'll fit in just fine. Besides, you'll know at least one person on board - I'll be there, and you know me."
Didn't Earn It
Pedro believed Phil, and the possibility of going on the cruise became stronger. But, he hesitated. Something else stood between him and the gangplank for which he had yearned for so long.
"Señor, thank you for the gift, but I cannot accept." It hurt Pedro to speak those words. "You see, thirty years ago, I set for myself the goal of earning enough money to go on a cruise. So far, I have only saved $34. I have not yet earned this ticket, so I cannot accept your wonderful gift. I will work harder, and someday I will have earned my passage on the cruise ship. Until then, I do not deserve this ticket."
Pedro placed the ticket on the table and stared at it as if to say goodbye. He was, after all, a proud man, and would not take charity. When he looked up, he was astonished to see how Phil's face had changed. Gone were the kind, compassionate grin and the smiling eyes. Now, his lips were pursed, his eyebrows strained, and his eyes glared at Pedro, who was now becoming a bit frightened.
Phil placed both palms on the table and leaned in front of Pedro's face. "Pedro!" he said, as if trying to awaken him from a coma. "In thirty years, you have saved only $34. If you work the rest of your life - if you work, and toil, and save for a thousand lifetimes - you will never be able to afford a ticket for this cruise on your own. You will never have enough money to buy this ticket; you will die working toward a goal you can never reach on your own. The only way you will ever be able to go on this cruise is if you accept this ticket as a gift."
The words cut deeply into Pedro's pride, not because they were mean-spirited words or because they were lies - but because they were the truth. Pedro knew that Phil was right, that at this rate, he would die never fulfilling his life's ambition.
He felt foolish. He now knew that he had wasted his life on an unattainable dream. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. His hands fell limply into his lap. He felt dejected, like he was nothing - less than a single grain of sand in his vast desert homeland.
Yet, there was Phil - clean, elegant, and almost glowing - standing in Pedro's own home in the middle of the desert. How could Pedro be nothing if this man had come from so far away to personally deliver this gift? His mind struggled with this dichotomy as Phil pushed himself up from the table, stood and turned toward the door.
For Everyone
From Pedro's doorway, Phil turned and said, "Don't be too hard on yourself, Pedro." The compassionate smile and glistening eyes had returned. "You've heard of Bill Gates? He has more money than anyone else in the world. He couldn't buy his own ticket, either. And, all those folks over in the Middle East with all that oil - they came up short, too. Kings, queens, moguls - none of them could buy their own ticket. But, I really wanted them to go on the cruise with me, so I bought all of their tickets for them, just like I bought this ticket just for you. All you have to do is accept it.
"And by the way," Phil smiled. "It's a really great boat, and the cruise lasts - an eternity."
Phil smiled, winked and waved, and before Pedro could ask how he had gotten that scar in the palm of his hand, he was gone.
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