Thursday, February 11, 2010

Fraud or lack of imagination

OK, so this lady was in a wheelchair rushing to get to an elevator, so she starts running while sitting down... Not even using the wheel ring that most paraplegics would employ... That's right. Running, as in both legs flailing against the ground in an attempt to propel the wheelchair tennant forward, though the central nervous system is obviously not yet trained, because as an outside observer I can tell that the resistance usually experienced by gravity putting a dependable force on all of her, and her legs used to supporting all of her are not getting the feedback loop. Perhaps it's as simple as the Marta station floor being too dusty for good traction... Either way, the efforts of her feet were nearly in vain, the propulsion was slight at best.

As she's riding down the hydraulic powered elevator (a.k.a. slow), I'm walking down the stairs right next to it shaking my head. Not in that "I'm so ashamed to be a human" mode that sometimes creeps up on me while I'm waiting for the train, but in that "I MUST have seen that wrong, because I can't explain it" mode.

Naturally, I'm tempted to wait at the bottom of the elevator and watch further, or ask if this is a psychology experiment, or perhaps do something to mess with her... Stand in her way, take something from her and run away with the hopes tha she'll give chase (on foot), or maybe find some way to accidentally sit in her lap to get some kind of raw reaction... I decide on the first option as it has the least amount of side effects.

She pulls up to a trashcan and starts opening mail... But the way she's tearing into a box is like a well wrapped present from a secret admirer - looking forward to more than just having something, but to peering into the mind of someone else, someone unnamed, trying to decipher who the secret giver is, because presents can tell a lot about the giver. At this point I realize I may be witnessing a federal offense. It is entirely possible that this "lady" has decided the thrill of taking a package from someone's doorstep is much more enticing than, well, not taking it.

As the train going south pulls up, (not mine) she aims for it in the same effortful zero-plegic way and faces a wall. Also odd. All I can think is: "wonder if anybody else saw that"

Marta strikes again.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Got Any Bengay?

I'll only move from my seat if the guy looks JUST like that... Does that make me racist?

Emotion in nothing?

Is there emotion that can be conveyed from a simple photograph in an airport?

If so, I propose that this one is loneliness or abandonment... Seems deserted, or I was just out of place when I took this with my cell phone.

Thursday, February 4, 2010


So I'm stepping on to Marta up at the train station and I had just missed the other train so the one sitting there at the top of the stairs will only be populated with those who are either still asleep from the trip North and ready-or-not going South in a few, or those riders that missed the 7:10 train with an even more frustrating proximity than I. The seats right next to the doors face sideways and a couple on each car are single (nobody's overhang can squash your leg). Just my luck the ONLY taken seat on the rail car I choose has somebody sitting in one of those single-sideriders that I love so much. In keeping with my strict loyalties I take the matching seat on the train, which as you can imagine is immediately across from this dude. As I'm "sizing him up" in my people-watching way, I notice he has a short moment of frustration. Perhaps it's like the awkward moment in an elevator when somebody else's rules of etiquette apparently differ from yours because they are invading you personal space for no reason... "Look at all that room over ther, where there's no ME!" I don't know what caused the look, but I was more interested in the sheer look of this guy. He had on a business outfit, black socks, size huge shoes, a Tony Almeida goatee and an NFL hat. I don't know which team, because the hat wasn't acing forward, only the approval seal on the back was showing. What really caught my attention was the fact that when I compared how far his knee was off the ground compared to mine, I started feeling tiny and thinking of 5'2" John stewart next to 6'5" O'Reilly. Needless to say I remembered what the guy looked like... I pull out the book I'm reading: Wild At Heart by John Eldridge, and I'm not 2 pages in when I read this paragraph:

"Witness the twin messages sported by young college-age men especially: a goatee, which says, "I'm kind of dangerous," and a baseball hat turned backward, which says, "But really I'm a little boy; don't require anything of me."

Needless to say, I was amused. 'Course this guy was well past college age, but chuckling I looked up from the pages in order to verify my memory... Yup. Good ol' William Wallace is sending mixed messages. I'm sure I'm biased in order to make myself seem like more of a man, but I thinking the internal monologue was leaning way toward "I'm a little boy"

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Take up your own Cross, Mine is fine where it lies.

Yet another AHA moment.


Right or wrong, I’ve decided that given the choice between going through the motions of reading a daily devotion first thing in the morning, or at a time in which I can actually take it to heart, and commit my brain to what’s going on, I’d like the substance to not be lost on me simply because I couldn’t get my brain in gear.  The aha moment is not that, it’s about the phrase where Jesus tells us to take up our cross daily.


So we are called to take up our cross daily and follow Him. … “whoever loses his life for [Jesus] will save it.” I have understood for a while now that this means we are to be willing to die for the sake of Christ. When given the choice between living or dying, we don’t forsake God. The meaning of the phrase take up your cross and follow is referencing the tradition of a condemned man carrying his own cross to his execution site. That makes as much sense as Teller handing bank robber the gun he needs to rob the bank.


So I’ve always convinced myself that if I were in the same position as that girl at Columbine who was asked if she believed in Christ, I would say yes. That’s daring, that’s insane, that’s… passive. AHA. That passive readiness is not taking up the cross daily, that’s more like knowing where my cross is and only revealing its location if directly inquired.  I am not called to only be ready when asked. I’m called to tell. (here lies the old belief in the “silent witness”) I’m called to take the very implements that may be used to harm me into THE spiritual war zone every day. The same way that Jesus carried his cross and put his arms down willingly, I am to leave my comfort zone and share the gospel.  


May God help me, because that sure doesn’t come naturally.