| Sunny Side Up
with Kathleen Gibson Dec. 24-08 Last Christmas with the Pirates We spent Christmas Eve with the pirates last year. I�ll never forget it. We�d never have known Cliff if a queue of circumstances hadn�t lined up so neatly: if the pirates of West Nile disease hadn�t banished the Preacher to the very same rehab ward as he. If both men hadn�t been paralyzed and in wheelchairs, taking therapy at the same times�from the same therapists. A large man, with brown skin draped across his face like a piece of well-chewed leather, Cliff looked like a pirate personified. A few of his front teeth had been knocked out, and he had numerous tattoos. I don�t remember them all, but when I close my eyes, I see the swastika and the naked girl, brazenly printed on his forearms. The man rarely spoke at first, but he grunted in response to our greetings in the halls. When he did speak, his voice was laced with gravel and cynicism. But the Preacher started talking to Cliff, and gradually he responded. �What put you in that chair, Cliff?� the Preacher asked, one day. �Four friends.� he said. �We were out drinkin� one night. We ended up at my house. They beat me and left me for dead. My little niece found me two days later, lying in my own blood. Had to crawl through a window to get in.� Cliff and the Preacher began an unlikely friendship. They cheered mutual milestones and grieved mutual losses. Sometimes the Preacher, who had one good arm, fed Cliff, who had none. Cliff found our faith intriguing, and sometimes asked about it. �I call God the Great Spirit,� he said sometimes, �but I don�t believe in your Jesus.� Except for those who were in bad shape, or had no place to go, most rehab patients went home for Christmas. But on Christmas Eve, around fifteen of us gathered near the white piano in the cafeteria. For the first time in months, the Preacher preached. He shuffled his chair over to Cliff�s, put his good hand on Cliff�s paralyzed ones, and began. �Let me tell you how Cliff and I became friends. If I�d have walked into Cliff�s room as a white, healthy preacher, he�d have never given me the time of day. I�m still white, but I can�t walk, and I�m in a wheelchair just like his. The wheelchair became the bridge the connected us.� Cliff listened intently. The Preacher continued. �The world, beaten up by sin, had no way to reach God, so God disabled himself, took the form of a human baby, and rolled into our world to make way for us to know him. Jesus is what we celebrate tomorrow. � And it came to pass that on Christmas morning, a doggedly determined Cliff shuffled his chair into the Preacher�s room. �Tell me that story again�� he began. Christmas with the pirates. We�ll not soon forget. The Preacher and I wish you a Christmas suffused with the presence of Christ. The rest is mere fluff. Respond Home |
 |