Soul Magic

TESTED
by David McLaughlan of Scotland

On the train heading for Glasgow I raised a subject I’d read about the day before. "Is your church-going a substitute for Christianity?" My wife looked puzzled so I explained. "It’s about folks who claim to be Christian because they go to church every Sunday but don’t actually lead very Christian lives the other six days of the week."

Well, we tossed the idea about for a few minutes then the train reached the terminus. Once in Central Station we made our way through the masses of travelers towards the exit. Because she’s a regular church-goer and I’m not, I admit I was teasing my sweetheart just a little. The last thing I expected was to have my question, and my faith, put to the test almost immediately.

My wife tugged at my sleeve.

"Look." She pointed to a bank of pay phones against the far wall where a hunched, elderly lady was checking every change return slot. Looking at her many layers of ragged clothing and shoes held together with tape my wife commented, "She’s probably wearing everything she owns. And what she isn’t wearing is probably in the plastic bag she’s carrying."

I turned against the tide of people and stood for a moment, watching her. Having found no forgotten change this woman, who had to be in her seventies, headed for the newsagent’s shop.

She was so small I doubt the sales assistant ever saw her amongst the genuine customers. She picked up a magazine or two and "accidentally" shook out the advertising leaflets and free TV guides. She picked these up off the floor and tucked them into one of her many cardigans. I could only guess they might be insulation to help her through a cold night on the street.

By now I was feeling guilty, like something of a voyeur. It was time to move on. I had seen poor people before. On the streets of Glasgow that night I would probably walk past a dozen professional beggars. But I couldn’t force myself to walk away.

Once again the woman made her way, all but unnoticed, through the crowd. Her next stop was the photo booth, where she pressed the coin return button a few times.

When she came out I was standing in front of her. Now, I’m a fairly big man so I don’t blame her for being startled when I said, "Find anything?"

But there was something more in her expression. She just couldn’t seem to comprehend the fact that I was speaking to her. What must it be like, I wondered, to have been so "invisible" for so long that having someone address you face to face could be such a shock?

"Here." I held out some money.

She smiled, tried for a few seconds to speak but she seemed to have forgotten how. Then, silently, her mouth formed the words, "Thank you."

Suddenly stunned and scared I pressed the money into her hand and stepped back into the crowd. By the time I reached my wife again my tears were flowing freely.

Minutes before I had been questioning other folk’s Christianity. Now I had been tested. If Jesus had been present in that old lady I probably wouldn’t have recognized him. So, instead, I believe He sent a messenger, someone I certainly would recognize. . .

In that deeply lined face and those watery blue eyes I had seen my own dearly loved, long departed grandmother.

In another life when I still had a child’s innocence I had fixed her fence, brought coal for her fire, sat by her feet. Granny’s smile was the best reward a "good boy" could hope for. And in that face, in that smile, I had seen proof that decades after her death by caring for someone else I had made her, and possibly some higher power, happy again.

We were on our way to the theatre, to see Jesus Christ Superstar, but I confess I only saw about half of it; the rest was blurred by tears of happiness.

    © by David McLaughlan of Scotland

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