Weirdos : Public Library :: Moth : Flame

So now that I've moved to Palatine, one of the bazillion northern Chicago 'burbs, I've spending a lot of time at the public library. Basically because I'm unemployed and I have nothing better to do but watch ESPN, read, and get on the Internet. I can do two of the three at the public library (and, really, ESPN.com is just as good as TV). The thing I've noticed about the library, besides the fact that the ones in the 'burbs are amazing compared to small town Ohio and medium town Indiana, but they are a mecca for weird people.

This week I spent the better part of three afternoons at the Arlington Heights Public Library, surfing the web and reading poetry and nonfiction stuff (exciting, I know), and on two of the days, I felt like I was in One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. I was expecting Jack Nicholson to jump off the top of a bookshelf in front of me wearing a straight jacket and singing show tunes.

Wednesday, I was sitting in the Newsstand area, reading GQ, learning that two button suits are now the way to go, and if you're going to risk wearing a seersucker suit, you should sport only a cotton tie along with, when an older gentlemen, a book and Diet Mountain Dew in-tow, decided to sit next to me. This was fine by me, save his tendency to narrate his every move. It went something like this:

"Well I think I'll sit down right here in this chair. Whoa that's a comfy chair. All right, let's take a sip of this pop right here. Man, $1.25 for a pop, wow! They sure charge a lot! OK, taking off the cap. Mmm. That's a pretty good pop. And they keep it nice and cold. What...what is in this pop? Hmm...concentrated orange juice, and...citric acid...that's some good stuff for a pop..."

Now about this time, the guy across from me picked up his newspaper and left. And the scruffy old guy in the corner, who had been snoring under his hooded sweatshirt and over his open magazine, woke up and strolled off. I was completely in awe of what was transpiring. And it continued:

"Hm, lets open this book here. OK, where was I? I haven't been here in...two..months, yes that's right. Here's my spot. OK, The Untouchables [his book was about classic TV shows and their stars]. Ahh, Robert Stack, he played Elliot Ness. Yeah, boy does he look young. Oh! Oh! David Letterman! Boy he looks young. It looks like this was taken at least...twenty two years ago! Yeah. Hey, hey young man. Have you ever seen David Letterman look this young?" He leaned over to me, but I tried to ignore him. He persisted, though until I answered. At that point, enough was enough and I got up and left.

The day before, I was sitting about the same exact spot when I overheard a "discussion" in the cafe area. I got up to investigate and found a lady yelling an obviously drunk, hobo-esque, middle-aged man.

"I'm not going to let you do this. You need to get your stuff together! My second husband died of alcohol and you aren't going to do the same thing!" she screamed at the man, at full volume.

"I..do...have it to..gether...Rosa," the man slurred.

They continued to scream at each other for several minutes, and I decided to leave for the day. As I walked around the cafe to the exit (I could have walked through, but there was no way), I caught a glimpse of a guy about my age sitting right next to the door. He apparently had been sitting there for the duration of the "chat" and the look on his face told the whole story.

And yet, even though the library attracts weirdos like moths to the flame, I keep coming back. What's a guy to do?

LeBron and Jesus

While I was watching LeBron James, arguably the best basketball player in the world, single-handedly (in the most literal since) defeat the Detroit Pistons in Thursday night's Game 5 of the Eastern Conference Finals, I couldn't help but be amazed. I also couldn't help thinking about Jesus. No, honestly.

I watched, mouth agape, the young wonder hit shot after shot--some fading away, or over three defenders, while getting hacked across the arms, or poked in the eye, you name it. I stared in disbelief as he picked apart the best defense in the NBA, scoring 29 of his team's last 30 points, willing his team to a win in double overtime. I shook my head as he drove past a usually staunch defender in Chauncey Billups, vaulted over and through a burly Jason Maxiell, and a long, shot-blocking specialist, Tayshaun Prince, and flipped in a game-winning layup with two seconds left. Everyone knew he was going to take the last shot, yet no one, not even three of Detroit's best defenders could stop him.

Even though the game was in Detroit, not Cleveland, I could still see some LeBron fans in the crowd sporting his "Witness" t-shirts. This slogan comes from one of LeBron's most popular Nike commercials, in which local Cavalier fans repeat the mantra, "We are all witnesses," as highlights from his various fantastic feats, like one's from Thursday's game, flash in between. These fans declare we are all witnesses to LeBron's grace, his raw power, his unquenchable passion, and his ability to put an entire team on his back and carry them to victory. We are witnesses to his basketball talent, and the fact that he's doing things no other player has ever done, all at such a young age.

What does this have to do with Jesus? Well, in the second book of Acts, the Holy Spirit comes down upon Jerusalem at the time of Pentecost, enabling Peter and other disciples the ability to speak in the many tongues represented by the Jews who had gathered there--Jews from "every nation under heaven." Many of these Jews, representing many nations, were "amazed and perplexed" at what was transpiring. Others claimed Peter and the others were drunk, the only possible explanation. "Surely this isn't really happening. They can't possibly speak every language. That defies all logic," they must have been thinking.

Peter claims this is not the case, however. "It's only nine in the morning," he explains. He continues to describe the past actions of Jesus, the Christ; he performed "miracles, wonders and signs, which God did among you through him, as you yourselves know." And that "This man was handed over to you...and you, with the help of wicked men, put him to death by nailing him to the cross. But God raised him from the dead, freeing him from the agony of death, because it was impossible for death to keep its hold on him."

Peter is setting a precedence here. He is saying, "Guys, remember Jesus? He healed the sick, made the blind see, the lame walk, and raised the dead, and He himself could not be defeated by death. You were all witnesses to this. Why do you not believe in God's ability to perform miracles?"

Witnessing LeBron's ballet-like moves and gravity-defying stunts on a basketball floor pales in comparison to the acts of Christ I continually see in my life. Like a family shocked by the overnight disappearance of cancer that had once riddled the body of their infant daughter. Or the simple delivery of a forgotten paycheck into the mailbox of a broke college student, just days before his tuition bill became due. Or even the joy on the face of a mentally challenged young woman, praising His name with all her capacities, even though those capacities are limited.

Even though I am a sinner, and daily nail Christ to the cross, I can be redeemed because of His power over death, His grace and His love, yes, but also because I am a witness to that power, grace and love.

So I guess you can say, "We are all witnesses." Acts 2:32 did.

There you go, from King James to the King of Kings. I know it's a stretch, but go with it.