Wednesday's thoughts

I decided to rent a small self-storage unit. I hate to spend the money, but I just don't know where to put the things I still want but have no space for in my little villa. I'm tired of tripping over empty boxes and unpacking full boxes, only to pack the things in another box like I think I'm unpacking or something. Lordamercy.

Most of the unpacked boxes I have left are filled with framed photographs. Not too long ago, I thought I was a good photographer and I framed everything in sight, forgetting that I had boxes of framed photographs from my long-ago house hidden away in the back of my bedroom in my former villa. Now, I have tons of framed photographs of all sizes. Lordamercy again. It is, however, kinda fun to unwrap these photos and see me as I was many moons ago. The old man in It's A Wonderful Life knew what he was talking about when he said youth is wasted on the young. I had no idea that I was young when I was young, and that I wouldn't be forever young, that one day I would look in the mirror and wonder just who that person is who is looking back at me because that face is not the one I used to have. I always look tired now, like life came knocking at my door and beat me up just for the hell of it over and over and over again. It's true that the last seven years have not been kind to me, and there were years before that when I really was living in hell, but still I persevere, still I hope, still I dream that it will get better, that I will be at peace, that I will live the life I want. Right now, I'm surviving, and that's not a bad thing. I have a decent roof over my head, some food in my belly, cats to bring joy into my day, a car that gets me where I need to go, friends and family who care about me, good health, and two part-time jobs that pay the rent and all the other bills that come with living. That's more than a lot of people have these days. 

This afternoon, as I approached my bus stop at the downtown transit center, a young man asked me if I knew God. I said yes. He asked me if I believed that I would go to heaven when I died. I said yes. He asked me how I knew that. I said because I didn't believe in a God who would send people to Hell. The young man then proceeded to ask me to repeat words of praise after him. So, here we were, in the middle of a giant wheel-spoke of bus stops to almost every part of the city and beyond, a chaos of people coming and going, the noises of buses coming and going, and I repeated the words of praise after the young man out loud as we walked to my bus stop. He pronounced me saved and told me that saying the words of praise aloud would bring the power of prayer closer to me. I thanked him, and we parted. I felt shaky afterward, like something otherworldly transpired between us and God, and I honestly don't believe in the whole idea of being saved and having my sins forgiven by Jesus Christ, but there was a power of light that connected that young man and me for just a few minutes. Once before, when I was leaving the library after work, an older African American man sitting on the balustrade by the library entrance called to me. I stopped and he came forward and blessed me in the name of Jesus Christ, telling me to have a wonderful evening. That kinda shook me up. Why me? Why now? He didn't ask for money (there are many homeless people who hang out in and outside the library), he didn't ask for food, he didn't want anything from me, except to stop and spend a few minutes with him as one human being to another. He has probably forgotten about me by now, but I think of him from time to time and wonder if he, like the young man today, are really angels sent by God to remind me that I am not alone, that there is a higher power who cares for me and watches over me. Because sometimes, down here in the dirt, it feels like I am all alone, struggling to breathe in a world that feels too fast and foreign to me. So, I thank the young man and the older African American man for reaching out to me for whatever reason that compelled them to do so.