4 February 2019
I noticed wisdom tucked behind his ears and tied behind his head, and I saw story packed in bags beneath his eyes, so I pointed my words toward him, “Is that your bike,” nodding my head and eyes to the only bike in the lot, knowing he was the only one with a helmet in the cafe. He went to grab a cup of coffee so I put his bag on the ground and sat down across from his empty seat and, upon his return, told him I hoped he didn’t mind me joining him. Honestly it’d be awkward if he minded at that point, but he ended up not minding, so I asked him to tell me a story, and he asked what story and I told him I wanted to hear the one about how hard things kept happening over and over, and how something good finally happened. And how he grew his gray hair and deep seated wrinkles. So he told me about the time that his entire family passed within a handful of months, and about how his wife left him and his kids told the government to keep him away. He let me in on story after story for another hour-something, and he said he expected to see me, and that when he did see me, he wanted me to expect to see him as well. He said good people know good people because a lot of times good people rack their minds for rather mediocre excuses just to talk to someone after making bets with themselves that the stranger next to them is likely a great person too. Sometimes it’s a horrible miss, yet others your meet the best part of your week. Sometimes your month, sometimes your life.
I used to slip on a dress and go to the promenade alone because of how lovely I found it to swap stories with strangers, but I stopped eventually. I’m not entirely sure why beside having grown weary after the time or two it didn’t work out as I’d dreamt. But after talking to Guiseppe today, I remembered how much I love good meeting people that I’d never met before. And how much I love sitting across from good story and gray hair and deep wrinkles.
I didn’t wake up this morning expecting to sit across from a 63 year old legend as he told me about years and years of rejection and years of years of redemption. And I certainly didn’t think I’d comfort a man in tears who’s traversed Africa via motorcycle plenty of times, but he told me I ought to start expecting to.
…
I started meeting good people in mass quantities three years ago, but only after spending a painful amount of time swallowed by loneliness. I petitioned for God to give me community for a long few months—and He actually did—but only after becoming good friends with Him first. Among dozens that God gave me, He sent me a friend named Ryan (Roner to many, Ryan to few). Godly community was a new concept to me, through and through. My friends and I we’re running around in the early summer rain one day when I voiced my gratitude to Ryan, “It’s crazy the people I’m surrounded by.” With the purest conviction, Ryan responded, “This isn’t so crazy when you’re friends with God. You can probably start expecting this.”
