Godsend

I was walking and while I was walking I was pissed off.  It was raining hard, and I was walking back to my apartment after work (playing music in the subway for twelve or thirteen hours) and I remember I'd begged you that morning, saying that I needed a really good loaves and fishes day, rent was due and the weekend yet to come, but after the first.  For some reason every song I sang that day fell flat, and flat songs don't open purses and wallets.  I came home with just enough money for dinner and maybe a cuppa on the way to work in the morning.  So I was mad and it was pouring and I thought "god must hate me" that day that was my prayer, and it continued.  "You hate me!  I'm cursed or something.  I have a black soul.  I'm gonna lose my apartment."  I remember shaking my fist at the sky and getting a mouthful of rain (which was cold and delicious - thank you!) and my voice was getting raw from the shouting.  Right then, I felt a tug and when I looked down, realized I'd pulled the cart with my guitar and equipment over a nail, and the tire was punctured.  Again I raised my voice and my fists, feeling damned.  Just then, a car pulled up beside me.  The window rolled down, and a young couple looked out at me.  "Do you need a ride?" asked the man in the passenger's seat.  I stood there stunned for a second or two, looked at the iron gray sky, and sheepishly said under my breath "thanks", then to the guy in the car "you are a Godsend!" And I meant it.  Later that evening, I walked down the stairs with the intention of giving what I had of the rent to the landlord and asking if Tuesday would be okay for the rest.  But when I got to the landlord's door, there was a note that read "Renters: Beth and I are out of town this weekend.  Please don't slide your rent under the door - just hold on to them please.  We'll be back on Wednesday morning."  I walked back up the steps to my apartment and suddenly found myself counting the blessings of the day rather than repeating the curses I'd uttered during the walk home.  The rest of the weekend, everything was "on" and in addition to the rent, I earned enough to take myself on a small trip to New Hampshire to visit a friend for two weeks.  The odd thing is that I really enjoyed playing that weekend too.  I felt that the spirit was in me for those days in ways that it had been missing for awhile.  Looking back, I can say with certainty that it always is, even when things seem bleakest.  Its just a matter of acknowledging and responding to it, rather than acknowledging and reacting to the seeming darkness of the moment.  A few days later, I was talking to a friend who was homeless back then.  As he smoked a cigarette and rambled his usual litany, which had something to do with the Virgin Mary, the Mafia, and his protestation that he wasn't a raper or a killer or a masturbator or a baby rapist, he suddenly looked at me with clear eyes and said "You're alive.  As long as you're alive, you have everything, I mean everything you need in that moment.  When you die, you don't need anything."  He finished his cigarette, and said "I hope I'll be okay.  Will I be okay?"  I said "Yes Mike, you'll be okay!"  which was always the answer he wanted to hear.  He just walked away shaking his head and I went back to my apartment - which was paid in full until next month - and cooked up a big pot of chili.
Thanks! I must be going,
Eric