The Miracle Worker

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Wandering downstairs to the corner coffee shop, I looked for a freshly poured mug to take from someone while they weren’t looking so that I might start my day. Fortunately I found a blind man getting ready to drink just such a cup.

Stepping quickly outside, the air seemed as brisk and clean as a robbery I once pulled. Flawless. I even dodged getting drenched by a passing car by utilizing a man in a wheel chair as a protective shield. Running at full stride to cross the street just before the light turned, I thought about the exact placement of the man. A single foot to the right or left and I would have been doused with a wave of mud and filth unimaginable. Mere coincidence?

I breathed the fresh air my pace quickened. Today’s routine would be no different than any other; a series of aimless wanderings to waste the day while others thought I was seeking employment. Yet, I felt like somehow God was involved now. Unfortunately as I would soon find out, so was bad luck.

I’ve never been one of those people who are constantly looking for a sign from heaven to tell them how to live. Usually I’ve just tried to go about my life and mind my own business, doing what I want, when I want, for as long as I want, regardless of the consequences to others. Take for example, hot tub defecation. Recently however, I’ve decided to change my ways. In fact this change happened as recently as last night, when I had a miraculous dream. A dream, from above…

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I found myself standing on a grand stage with the world’s entire needy population before me… At first I thought, “What is this, the World’s Beggar Convention?” Then I looked again at the endless sea of faces each looking back at me in hopeless desperation and quietly reached back to my wallet, wishing only that I could have a thicker chain on it.

Turning my attention back to the crowd, I could somehow make out they seemed to be grouped together by their specific needs. For example, there were about 50 million blind people to my left just sort of standing there milling about looking bored, or thirsty, or something else I just couldn’t put my finger on. So, probably more out of pure frustration than anything else, I just sort of angrily signaled to them that they better “look busy” and “stop loitering about” in front of the stage. -When immediately, and to my great surprise, their walking sticks disappeared and were miraculously replaced with scolding hot drinks! Shocked, my attention immediately drifted to the large group of handicaps sitting in wheel chairs next to them. For seemingly out of nowhere appeared a giant tidal wave of hot, scolding liquid that threatened to carry them all away!

Forgetting the scene before me, I looked at my hands in amazement.   There was no mistaking it, I now possessed the highly coveted power to shoot blessings at people.

For example, I merely pointed my pinky finger and a poor woman with osteoporosis was hit simultaneously on the head with bags of gold and calcium from the sky… A two fisted punch in the air, and a group of recently beaten men were instantly wrapped head to toe in bandages so completely that they very nearly resembled piñatas….Right next to them were about five thousand Latino rage-aholics, (the Southern Mexico chapter), who I thought might benefit from an organized sport like baseball, so with one imaginary swing they all had brand new bats in their hands! I even spotted my very own elderly grandmother wandering through a crowd of convicted murderers. Thinking quickly, I disguised her as a judge for protection.

Oh it was indeed a glorious sight to behold! I began to dance around, flailing my arms and shooting out blessing after blessing as the crowd screamed me on for more.

Turning my attention away, I even noticed a strange group of people who I could sense all happened to be just barely self-conscious about having attached ear lobes. Feeling their quiet desperation, I gave them all giant tattoos of arrows pointing to their respective lobal deformations. “There! Now that it’s out in the open you don’t have to worry about it anymore!” I shouted, loud enough so they could hear me despite covering their ears in elation.

My wife was there too, wasting tons of energy on trying to signal me about something, before I gave her a state-of-the-art kitchen to funnel those energies into productively by making me some lobster and waffles… I tell you, it was as if God Himself had empowered me to instantly help all of the needy of the world, and I was taking full advantage.

Awoken form the dream with a new sense of destiny, I got out of bed determined to see what other signs God was giving me to direct my path. So, eyeing a gold nugget I had wanted for some time in a pawn shop window, I finally felt the courage to march right in and hide it in an old woman’s purse.

You would think it would be easy to take a purse from an old lady and replace it with a brown sack of my own dirty laundry. The purse itself was semi-outdated, so I was doing her a huge favor anyway.  (Or, “doing her a blessing,” as I began to call it.) Also, I had a vintage “Pat Robertson for President 88’” t-shirt in that bag and those are a rare treat to behold. I left a note to “wash by hand” before returning, also including that she “better do what it says if she knew what was good for her.” And get this, I genuinely hoped she did! (Know what was good for her.)

Following the woman down the street, I noticed she paused to rest at a bus stop and put down her purse. Sneaking up behind her, “commando blessing style,” (as I began to call it), I quietly placed the bag of laundry next to the purse, but soon became distracted as a small child next to me was licking a giant “It’s My Birthday!” lollipop. Instantly feeling compassion for having no parental guidance to steer him clear of poor food choices, I stole the lollipop, which wasn’t even that hard because he was pretty weak, apparently still being only ”4 Years Old!!”.

I was about to return to “operation gold nugget retrieval/blessing,” (as I called it), when I looked up and saw my very own elderly grandmother was struggling to cross a busy intersection. Leaving her alone, I once again felt the positive rush of not being an enabler to weakness. However, in my elation the child must have heard me chomping down on the lollipop, because he began screaming profanities such as I had never heard before or could even understand. As my grandma looked over at the commotion I immediately dropped to the ground, shattering the candy onto the child’s stroller just in time to see my cherished gold-nugget boarding the bus.

The worst part of the operation, (referred to as “operation gnr/b” by that time), was I think my grandmother may have spotted me. I can always tell when she spots me because she does this little thing where she shakes her head and begins to weep. In retrospect however, it is possible she was merely panicking due to the threat of on-coming traffic. I held onto that thought, hoping I wouldn’t get a call from her later in the week with the topic being, “why I didn’t say hi.”

Discouraged, gold nugget-less, wearing the dirty “Robertson 88’” shirt because I didn’t want to carry the bag anymore; I continued walking the lonely city streets. When suddenly a ray of light burst through the clouds as God let me spot a policeman friend of mine before he saw me! (As I had once impersonated him in public / permanently ruined his credit score, etc.)

Everything happens for a reason, that’s what I always say, and actually did say, as I ducked into a back alley where someone had mugged and beaten a man without thinking to look in his pockets for loose change. Walking away from the man, I was glad to be dropping his change into my pockets because it made me think of a great idea for Christmas. Why not stand with a bell-and-change-bucket outside department stores like those other fake Santas do? Quickly returned to the mugged man, I found a pen and notepad in his jacket pocket just as he was awakening.

“Wow, I really owe you one,” he said, groggily.

“You said it brother.” I returned, desperately hoping this conversation would not make me forget the Christmas bell/bucket idea. “Here, let me just write down my address on this notepad where you can send me a gift whenever you get your credit cards and money back.”

And you know what? It felt so good to have done my part to restore faith in the kindness of others for one man that I entirely forgot about the Christmas bell/bucket idea even until this very moment! (Note to self: Don’t let that happen again. Christmas bell/bucket = gold.)

“Whatever you think would be suitable,” I continued, doodling pictures on the paper as suggestions, “Flat screen tv? Small bucket of diamonds? Powered hot-tub/toilet?”

Looking at the drawings, the man groaned, “But I probably just lost my job today for being late to work. I won’t have any money to give to your..(squinting at hot-tub/toilet drawing)… small-pool-with-dead-baby-frogs gift idea?”

At this I compassionately looked at him before leaning forward and repeatedly underlined the words: “credit cards.”

“Sometimes restoring faith takes sacrifices,” I said, patting him on the shoulder, also mentioning I could probably help him out with the name and bank card numbers of certain police officer I knew which he could use for said bucket o’ diamonds purchasing.

“Ouch man, that hurts,” he winced, “I think you’re punching an open wound.”

Beginning to stop, it was then that I noticed he had attached ear lobes.  Placing my palm on his forehead I instinctively began shaking it and mumbling, “They-want-to-be-free… They-want-to-be-free… Be free!!”

Letting out a soft, “Who are you?,” the man caught a glimpse of my t-shirt and began screaming for help. (As many people do when confronted with bold political change.)

Hearing the approaching footsteps of what I thought were policemen with bad credit, I  jumped to my feet and burst through a back door in the alley, inadvertently running into an exercise facility and up onto a treadmill where I unawares continued running and screaming in terror for the next two hours. (As there was a realistic mural of the city painted on the wall in front me.)

I noticed I was hungry after they turned the power off at the gym. So I headed to the fanciest restaurant in town in a desperate hope of giving one more shot at “doing someone a blessing,” (as I was starting to get tired of calling it by then.) Well, you may not believe this, but when I got there not only did I discover they had lobster on special for $29.99, but that I was also able to still fit out of the bathroom window after eating the entire plate!

Attempting to “pass the blessing,” (a term I have only used that one time because it sounds lame), back to the restaurant, I made a mental note during my fall from the window ledge that I should write to the owner about sealing those windows a little better, as it could save him literally tens of thousands of dollars a year on lawsuits from myself. However, getting up to do just that, I cursed life again, -having just realized I forgot to take the aerosol deodorant and cologne bottles on the counter.

Thinking all hope was lost, a passing school bus reminded me of my weekly trip to the school yard to make fun of kids for learning how to read. But again I stopped myself…Suddenly facing the crippling realization I didn’t care enough about children to expend that kind of energy on them. And I was this close to making a difference, too. “Why God?!” I screamed falling to my knees halfway, being careful to not get dirty.

Discouraged, at the end of my rope, my belly full of fine lobster, I began considering the erroneous possibility I hadn’t really made a difference in anyone’s life that day. -So I decided to walk into a theater where a local play was being performed and convince the manager I was there to provide sign language to the hearing impaired.

Upon entering and taking my place on stage, I quickly discovered this particular play seemed to provide me with a larger audience that I had ever previously performed to. It was entitled, “The Miracle Worker,” and although I had never heard of it before, apparently a lot of deaf people had.

At first I actually felt a bit overwhelmed by the large, defective-eared crowd before me… But then, as the curtain donned I felt something glorious and powerful within my bowels begin to rise up.   As I began a series of repetitive hand gestures I believed resembled sign language, I felt a strange power which somehow felt strangely familiar…

The dream!

It was all coming back to me now! The stage, the hopelessly confused faces looking to me for answers! Fully engaged in the moment, I stood proudly and knew it was my “time to bless.” (A term I’m not completely sold on yet. What do you think?) I even took time to thank God Himself that I never learned actual sign language, so I might feel uninhibited towards communicating freely.

Stated plainly; I was like a fantastically exploding supernova up there; completely glorious both in appearance and form. A shining testament to what can be accomplished when someone is fully hearing correct guidance on life and living. A man who had completely harnessed, and thereby unleashed, an unlimited power source of pure energy and who was, with every sweeping arm gesture, frog-leap, and jumping heel-click, blessing the core out of every deaf soul within earshot…

Yes, as the curtain closed that night you could see the “proof of blessing” transcribed on every stunned face. The “blessing train” had rolled through town my friends, mercilessly clearing everything in its path.

Returning home exhausted, I told my wife who was complaining about working a second job that I would rub her back if she first rubbed mine and then made me some waffles. The gesture even seemed to boost her sprits, proving the “blessing glow” was still heavy upon me. “Well I don’t believe this,” she exclaimed, willingly putting her remaining energy into working my “blessed out” shoulders. And, falling into a deep sleep as she did, I wondered what other wonderful blessings lied in store for me and others who would unwittingly cross my path in the next day…Closing my eyes and praying sincerely with all my heart as never before, I believed with the faith of a saint that somehow, someway, the waffles would keep until then.

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