Live Uncomfortably

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Author’s warning! - I’ve been reading ‘classic’ literature

Michael’s beard and thick mustache seemed to weigh down his lower eyelids, opening and revealing his bright blue eyes. At first glance, his small pupils, drowned in a sea of exposed white, were off putting. For what reason would a man posses to stare like that? Why would this vagrant with dirty long hair and nails look so menacingly at me? But then, with a softly spoken lisp that slithered off his tongue, I could tell he meant no harm. This was not a homeless man; this was a man whose home was about him always.

Michael had come towards us just to talk. He wanted nothing more than an open ear to spin his delight for the world into. That joy, was for the earth that his God had created. Michael was living what he called a Puritan Christian lifestyle. He had been on the road since ‘95, soaking in all the wonders of the earth and talking to people about his God. But from deep below his hippie smock, far behind his overgrown facial hair, and beyond his wily exterior came no judgment, only sincerity. There was no force pushing at us from behind his words.

For me, the mention of God is met with caution and often with blinders. But as Michael continued to count his blessings before me and a friend, I noticed something unusual for a man of God. Michael was not pressing anything but his story.

In barrooms and in friendly conversations, I find all kinds of positions. Every man has his, and each talks the part he has played and experienced in life. Michael’s own experience happened to be through what he called God. So, in the thralls of riveting discourse, the use of God was not strategically imparted; rather, God was simply a character in the narrative of his life. God then might be compared to a father or a mentor, in the stories of men occupying a barstool.

I’ve made an effort to disclose these facts because of my own preconceptions. Somewhere along my travels, religion has done me wrong and I’ve grown quite sour to the idea of the Church and its doctrines. This is, of course, unfortunate, for there are many great things to be found in religious books, and the heart of true religion often lies outside its temple doors. Without a long discussion relating in part or wholly to the issue of religious hipocracy, I’ll say it was a breath of fresh Yosemite air to speak with a man so connected and paradoxically disconnected from his religion.

So, for maybe an hour, my friend and I sat and listened to Michael spin and spin and laugh. It was like listening to a college friend reminisce about drunken revelry and disorder. It had the same weight and meaning and youthful spirit. Michael had his audience and ears, and his delicate hidden features glowed with exuberance.

One particular analogy, of which Michael has many, was especially beautiful. While discussing the blessings all around us that we often overlook, Michael wondered what people would think if all the rivers suddenly turned to milk. People would view it was a miracle, a sign from God he thought. “But don’t we already have something much better than milk in our rivers? You can drink your share of milk but before long you’ll feel sick. You can’t wash your clothes in milk. You can’t bathe in milk like water. Creatures of the water cannot live in milk. Flowing rivers are miracles themselves.”

Why Being Good To People Pays

Once our stories had lived, floated and flirted with each other, they laid down to rest, and we parted. There was nothing more than handshakes exchanged; at least in the physical. We were passing friends and drinking mates. We hadn’t a drop, but we revealed as much as ourselves any drunk. And for this we remembered Michael.

Three or four days later we were 50 or 60 miles from the Yosemite wilderness and in the comforts of a warm truck. Driving down the highway we spotted a bearded man fiercely pedaling uphill. He carried a sign indicating the need for a ride. “It can’t be,” I thought. But, Michael had mentioned that he fixed bicycles from time to time to make money, so we turned around to be safe, and, to find our friend once again.

We were some miles away from our original meeting ground, but we still held similar esteem. Michael took our ride to the next campground and for the duration we hopped back into conversations about life. The transportation we provided was out of our way by ten miles of steep, mountain road. Michael had planned to bike the whole way, most likely reaching camp by nightfall. So, for the ride, he was extremely grateful and as we left him, he told us he counted it as a miracle from God for us to meet again.

I thought about it for a couple minutes and smiled. I took it to be a sign that you get what you give. If you put love into the world, you get it back. There are too many people, some in the church, trying to squeeze what they can out of the shallow pockets of life. If only Michael could show them what it truly means to love life and their God.