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The Christmas Tales
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John said, "Adam, I haven't heard you tell me about your summer vacation. You know, when you went to pick up the icons that our parish commissioned from St. Herman's Monastery in Alaska. How was it?"
This is Adam's story.
I probably already told you what happened this summer. It turned out to be somewhat exciting. I was going to drive from our parish, take my old car to my sister in L.A., and fly to the holy land of Alaska and buy icons from St. Herman's Monastery.
I debated whether I needed to ask Father for a traveler's blessing. When I went up and asked him how to best profit from a journey that looked too quiet, he said, "You do not know until tomorrow what tomorrow will bring."
A day into the journey, I was passing through Chicago, intending to take a direct route through the south side of Chicago. I felt the voice of the Spirit saying, North side.
My stomach got tighter as I drove through the South Side, and got tighter until I was sitting at a red light, alone. The voice said quite urgently, Burn rubber.
I waited for a green light. Just a second before, six youths with guns surrounded the car. "Out of the car! Now!"
I almost wet my pants. The voice moved gently in my heart and said, Open the window and talk about Monty Python.
"What?" I thought.
Open the window and talk about Monty Python.
I opened the window and started half-babbling. "Do you watch Monty Python? It's a TV show, has some nudity, you should like it, and has a sketch about the man with a tape recorder up his nose. There's a self-defense series where this man is teaching people how to defend themselves against various types of fruit--what do you do if someone attacks you with a passion fruit or a banana, for instance?"
Talk about the orange on the dashboard.
"For instance, what would you do if I attacked you with this orange?"
"Out!" the youth bellowed.
Tell him you have GPS alarms and security cameras.
I grumbled in my heart: that's not true, and it'll just make him madder.
Tell him you have GPS alarms and security cameras. And that he's on candid camera.
"Did you know this car has a GPS alarm and security cameras hidden all over the place? Smile! You're on candid camera."
He grabbed my coat and put his gun to my head. "You can't lie worth beep! Shut your blankety-blank hole and get out now!"
I blinked, and listened to the still, small voice. "Did you know that my cousin works for the FBI? You can leave fingerprints on leather, like my jacket, if your glove slips the teensiest, weensiest bit--in fact, you've done so already. If you shoot me, you'll have your fingerprints on a murder victim's clothing, and in addition to having the Chicago Police Department after you, you'll have a powerful FBI agent who hates your guts. Smile! You're on candid camera."
He looked down and saw that his glove had slipped when he grabbed my coat. He could see I was telling the truth.
Five seconds later, there wasn't another soul in the place.
I pulled through the rest of Chicago uneventfully, drove into a super market parking lot, and sat down shaking for an hour.
From that point on it was a struggle. I was jumpy, like when you've drunk too much coffee. I jumped at every intersection, and prayed, "Lord, keep this car safe." And it seemed odd. There seemed to be more people cutting me off, and driving as if they wanted an accident with me. Maybe that was my jumpy nerves, but this time I didn't even notice the scenery changing. Finally, I came in sight of my sister's suburbs, and prepared to get off. I relaxed, and told myself, "You've done it. You've arrived safely."
A car cut me off and slammed on the brakes. I swerved to the right, barely missing it, but scraping off paint when I ran into the shoulder's guardrail.
I turned my head to see what on earth that person was doing. And slammed into an abandoned Honda Accordion in front of me.
I was doing about 77 miles per hour when this started, and I totaled both cars. Thank God for airbags; I was completely unscathed. My cell phone still worked; I called the state troopers, and then told my sister what had happened. It seemed forever before the troopers came and filled out a report; I eventually called for a cab.
I arrived at my sister Abigail's house, obviously looking like a wreck; we talked a bit, and she went up to bed. I could hear her snoring, and I wanted to read a bit before going down. I opened her Bible, when I realized something unpleasant. The basement door was open--I couldn't see down the steps.
Her cat was at the top of the stairs, his back arched, every hair raised, hissing. I very slowly closed the Bible and--
Open the Bible.
I got up.
Sit down.
I stood all the way up.
Sit down.
I sat down, and a kind of spiritual seeing came as I followed.
Open the Bible to the concordance and look up 'Emmanuel'.
I was trying hard not to get up and dial 9-1-1. That was nearly the only thought in my head, but I saw the references to Emmanuel. I immediately began flipping to the passage in Matthew, where Christmas tale has the prophecy of the virgin bearing a son, and... Not Matthew, but Isaiah. It was about all I could do not to get up immediately and dial 9-1-1. But I looked, and read... That's the passage where the king of Israel is trembling before the kings of two neighboring powers, and God tells him that if he does not stand firm in his faith, he will not stand at all, and then--
Therefore, the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son... and before he knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good, the land of those two kings you dread will be desolate ruins.
I thanked the Lord for that reading, and got up, and sat down when my stomach got tighter, and finally made the decision to wait as long as the Spirit said, or not call 9-1-1 at all.
Call 9-1-1.
I raced over to the phone as quickly as I thought I could move quietly.
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