The Stranger
Hummm.
Another day.
So tired of all of this.
Nothing in cupboards.
Nothing in fridge.
Guess I'll have coffee.
Well.
Out of coffee.
Huh.
Couldn't have one anyway.
Forgot the power was turned off yesterday.
Water will probably be next.
Well.
Here I am.
Alone in this dismal place.
My name?
Dave.
No.
Better call me Rob like everyone else.
Don't like that name.
But it does seem to fit.
Rob is short for . . .
No, not Robert.
ROBBED.
Everything I ever had is gone.
You know like I've been robbed.
Lost my job.
Wife left me . . . took the kids.
Probably about to lose this place.
Have no money.
Nothing to do.
Nothing to live for.
Once had an okay life.
Not too shabby.
Had plans.
Dreams.
Reason to live.
You know, a home, a family, a little money.
All that's gone now.
Can barely get out of bed.
Don't want to get out of bed.
Nothing for me here or out there.
Is that a knock at the door?
Crap!
Let me guess.
The super.
"Sorry, son, but can't let you stay here any more.
Wish I could help you. Have done all I can."
[Knocking continues.]
Okay, already.
I'm coming.
Time to face the music.
Homelessness is calling my name.
When I opened the door, a stranger silently stood there.
"Who are you?"
"A friend."
"I ain't got no friends."
"You do now. Are you going to let me in or let me freeze?"
"I really don't know. You're dressed kind of funny."
The stranger stood there dressed in a crimson coat and hat.
Looked expensive.
Tailored to fit.
He really wasn't much to look at, but there was an aroma about him.
Made me hungry.
And I was hungry.
He carried an old-fashioned carpet bag made of some sort of crimson material, a tapestry maybe.
"Well, are you going to let me in or keep me out in the cold?"
Well, what the hell?
Hmmmmm.
Might as well.
Not like I'm going anywhere important.
The worst he could do is kill me.
That might be a good thing.
His story might be interesting.
About all I get these days -
another man's stories, another man's blues, another man's dreams.
"Come in.
Warning.
Place ain't much."
The stranger picked up his carpet bag and silently entered the room.
I offered him a chair at my table.
He took it.
His eyes never left my face.
After a few silent moments, I felt awkward, uncomfortable.
His gaze seemed to make me notice myself, my place.
I felt shame, yet I was curious.
Who is this man?
What does he want with me?
"Dave?"
"What? How did you . . .?"
"I know everything."
"Then you know that Dave is not my name."
"Dave is your name. I gave it to you."
"Man, you're not my father."
He smiled.
"We'll see."
Slowly, he began to open his bag.
"Hey, man. You're not going to hurt me, are you? Rob me? I don't have anything you'd want. In fact, I don't have anything."
"We'll see."
He withdrew a stained,rough, misshapen wooden bowl from his bag and set it in front of me.
Then he filled it with water from a broken bottle that had been pieced back together somehow - some sort of pottery.
As he filled the bowl, I noticed how thirsty I was.
"Okay. I'll play nice for awhile.
Is this some sort of magic trick?"
"We'll see."
Next, he opened a small velvet pouch.
He handled the pouch with uh . . . reverence?
Inside were crimson, heart-shaped rose petals.
He crushed a few of the petals into the clear water.
Immediately, the water began to turn a pale pink and then a deeper shade until the water was so red that I couldn't see the petals anymore.
Then he carefully lifted a small vial and added its contents to the ancient bowl.
This liquid looked like oil, and its fragrance filled the room.
Finally, he removed a small golden tube from the bag.
He reached in and pinched a few tiny crystals and carefully sprinkled them over the contents of the bowl.
Looked like salt.
He didn't drop a one.
As the aroma enveloped me, I felt . . . safe.
This man wasn't here to harm me.
"Wash."
"What? Did you say wash?"
"Wash."
"Me?"
"Who else?"
"But it's red."
"So. Wash."
"Okay."
As I washed my hands, I began to notice just how filthy I really was, and I felt ashamed.
Years of filth and grime were on my hands.
I expected the water to turn brown from the dirt, but it just deepened in color.
"Are you finished?"
I didn't want to be finished because the water felt so soothing - healing.
Then I really took a good look at myself.
Could anything wash away this amount of dirt?
"Are you finished? You don't have to be. You can wash as much and as long as you wish."
So, I began with my face.
The water felt wonderful.
Hadn't felt that good in years.
Didn't want to stop.
Wanted to be clean all over.
I eyed the gentleman closely.
He nodded, so I took the bowl in my hands.
Lifting it gently, I raised it over my head and turned it upside down.
The water flowed down covering me all over, cleansing every nook and cranny from head to toe.
The stranger then pulled a folded piece of brilliantly white cloth from his bag.
Maybe silk or linen.
As he unfolded the cloth, light drove the darkness from the room.
For the first time in a long time, I could see clearly - the room,
the furniture, my clothes . . . even me.
Once again, I felt shame over the shabbiness and filthiness of my surroundings and the stained rags I was wearing.
As he unfolded the final fold, I realized his intentions.
"Please don't ruin your lovely cloth. See the dirt, the scratches, the stains."
"Don't worry, son. This cloth has been everywhere and has seen everything. It will cover it all."
And then he gently placed the cloth over my shabby, dirty table.
Suddenly, everything seemed new.
"I have prepared a feast for you."
"For me? Why?
"Because I love you."
"But I don't even know you. I don't even know your name."
"I know you, and that's all that matters."
A feast sounded awesome.
I was hungry, so hungry that it hurt.
Funny how I didn't realize how hungry I was until this moment.
"Well, are you going to let me in or keep me out in the cold?"
Well, what the hell?
Hmmmmm.
Might as well.
Not like I'm going anywhere important.
The worst he could do is kill me.
That might be a good thing.
His story might be interesting.
About all I get these days -
another man's stories, another man's blues, another man's dreams.
"Come in.
Warning.
Place ain't much."
The stranger picked up his carpet bag and silently entered the room.
I offered him a chair at my table.
He took it.
His eyes never left my face.
After a few silent moments, I felt awkward, uncomfortable.
His gaze seemed to make me notice myself, my place.
I felt shame, yet I was curious.
Who is this man?
What does he want with me?
"Dave?"
"What? How did you . . .?"
"I know everything."
"Then you know that Dave is not my name."
"Dave is your name. I gave it to you."
"Man, you're not my father."
He smiled.
"We'll see."
Slowly, he began to open his bag.
"Hey, man. You're not going to hurt me, are you? Rob me? I don't have anything you'd want. In fact, I don't have anything."
"We'll see."
He withdrew a stained,rough, misshapen wooden bowl from his bag and set it in front of me.
Then he filled it with water from a broken bottle that had been pieced back together somehow - some sort of pottery.
As he filled the bowl, I noticed how thirsty I was.
"Okay. I'll play nice for awhile.
Is this some sort of magic trick?"
"We'll see."
Next, he opened a small velvet pouch.
He handled the pouch with uh . . . reverence?
Inside were crimson, heart-shaped rose petals.
He crushed a few of the petals into the clear water.
Immediately, the water began to turn a pale pink and then a deeper shade until the water was so red that I couldn't see the petals anymore.
Then he carefully lifted a small vial and added its contents to the ancient bowl.
This liquid looked like oil, and its fragrance filled the room.
Finally, he removed a small golden tube from the bag.
He reached in and pinched a few tiny crystals and carefully sprinkled them over the contents of the bowl.
Looked like salt.
He didn't drop a one.
As the aroma enveloped me, I felt . . . safe.
This man wasn't here to harm me.
"Wash."
"What? Did you say wash?"
"Wash."
"Me?"
"Who else?"
"But it's red."
"So. Wash."
"Okay."
As I washed my hands, I began to notice just how filthy I really was, and I felt ashamed.
Years of filth and grime were on my hands.
I expected the water to turn brown from the dirt, but it just deepened in color.
"Are you finished?"
I didn't want to be finished because the water felt so soothing - healing.
Then I really took a good look at myself.
Could anything wash away this amount of dirt?
"Are you finished? You don't have to be. You can wash as much and as long as you wish."
So, I began with my face.
The water felt wonderful.
Hadn't felt that good in years.
Didn't want to stop.
Wanted to be clean all over.
I eyed the gentleman closely.
He nodded, so I took the bowl in my hands.
Lifting it gently, I raised it over my head and turned it upside down.
The water flowed down covering me all over, cleansing every nook and cranny from head to toe.
The stranger then pulled a folded piece of brilliantly white cloth from his bag.
Maybe silk or linen.
As he unfolded the cloth, light drove the darkness from the room.
For the first time in a long time, I could see clearly - the room,
the furniture, my clothes . . . even me.
Once again, I felt shame over the shabbiness and filthiness of my surroundings and the stained rags I was wearing.
As he unfolded the final fold, I realized his intentions.
"Please don't ruin your lovely cloth. See the dirt, the scratches, the stains."
"Don't worry, son. This cloth has been everywhere and has seen everything. It will cover it all."
And then he gently placed the cloth over my shabby, dirty table.
Suddenly, everything seemed new.
"I have prepared a feast for you."
"For me? Why?
"Because I love you."
"But I don't even know you. I don't even know your name."
"I know you, and that's all that matters."
A feast sounded awesome.
I was hungry, so hungry that it hurt.
Funny how I didn't realize how hungry I was until this moment.
"You ready?"
"Yes."
You can have as much or as little as you wish. I will leave that up to you. Okay?
"Okay."
He then placed a beautifully ornate, silver chalise on the table and poured a dark red liquid into it.
"Go ahead. Enjoy. I paid a very high price for this wine. It's called Forgiveness."
I took a deep drink.
Then another and another.
As I drank, my heart grew lighter, and a subtle joy began to warm me on the inside.
I felt something on my face.
Tears?
After all these years?
Wow!
Something was happening to me.
Something strange.
Something wonderful.
He then lifted a loaf of bread from his bag.
Before he placed it on the table, he broke it and said, "Take. Eat."
It was still warm and soft.
Best bread I ever tasted.
"The bread and the wine are the first course. There are many other dishes. You don't have to eat them all at once. Remember, you can have as much of each as you desire. Everything has been prepared with a special seasoning called love."
While I devoured the bread and the wine, he busied himself setting
out bowls and platters of food, each overflowing.
Their aromas were intoxicating.
As he positioned the dishes on the table, he named them - Mercy,
Belief, Grace, Peace, Wisdom, Power, Joy, Patience, Kindness, Generosity.
And on and on.
I honestly cannot remember the names of all of them.
"Do I need to taste them in order?"
"Not really, but I would recommend beginning with Belief and Faith. Remember, you can have as much or as little as you desire."
So I began with Belief and Faith and moved onto something called Hope.
I'd never tasted it before.
These made me want to taste all the others.
The more I ate, the stronger and younger and lighter I felt.
What was happening to me?
The stranger didn't talk much but just sat there smiling in delight while I ate.
Occasionally, I would hear, "Good choice." "Wise."
I couldn't get enough.
"Why? Why me? What have I ever done to deserve this? There's got to be a catch?"
"Nope. No catch. This is a real deal. It is everlasting."
"But I don't understand."
"Keep feasting. The more you eat, the more you'll understand."
Circumstances forgotten, I continued to feast.
"Well, Dave. I have to leave."
"Why? We're just getting to know each other. I'm just getting to know you."
"You're going to be okay - now. I'll be around. Promise. When you least expect it, I'll drop by. Thank you for letting me in, for opening the door. That took courage. Remember that you have enough here to share with others, so be generous."
"Wait. You never told me your name."
"Dave, my son, you've always known my name."
From that day forward, I lived thinking about the "stranger" at my door.
He turned my darkness to light, my blindness to sight.
Yes, I'm still hungry and thirsty and looking for a home.
But just as he promised, there has been plenty for me and plenty to share.
The more I share, the more I have.
My cup has never run dry.
And when I least expect it, he comes.
His visits renew me and energize me and keep me going.
And he always brings something new to taste and enjoy, something that somehow changes me and enables me to carry on.
Wow!
What a friend I have found in this stranger.
