begging for change

Recently, I have begun to recognize how routine life can get. I often find myself yearning for some new activity or experience that will shake up this routine, hoping that novelty will breed some sort of new and profound insight into my reason for being. Which is probably why, yesterday, I took a hobo out for sushi.

I work an eight-hour shift, weekdays, downtown. We get an hour break for lunch everyday. During my break I usually just read in the lunchroom or get a burrito from the Mexican cafe next door. Yesterday, though, I decided to go for a walk. I made my way up to Pender street, then started walking east. On the next block a homeless man asked me if I had "any spare change to help out an honest guy." He was dirty with an almost cinematic hobo guise.

Normally in this situation I would just say "sorry" and move on. You would too. But this day, I didn't. I asked the man if he was hungry. He replied, "Food is food for the soul, tells ya."

I knew that this wasn't a sentence, but nonetheless, I continued.

"Would you like to join me for lunch? My treat."

"Yessiree, boss. You're one of the good ones, there boy," he muttered with guarded optimism.

I gestured, and we began walking together.

The whole situation was fraught with uncertanties, which excited me. But as we were walking, he began to tell me how nice of a guy I was. This made me feel uncomfortable. I worried that for the duration of our lunch-date he would feel indebted to repay me in compliments or something. I didn't want it to be like that. I wanted it to be symbiotic, with the experience itself being my gain. I didn't want the ego stroke. This was my shake-up. He'd be giving too much.

So I asked him to stop complementing me.

"You got it boss."
"Please don't call me boss either. Call me Nathan. My name's Nathan."
"Sure thing-o, Nathan"
"What's your name?"
"They call me Pennzoil."

I liked that.

"Good to meet you Pennzoil."

We shook hands and he laughed, disgustingly.

I spotted a sushi place down the block. We walked in. The place was virtually empty and the waitress gestured for us to seat ourselves. I picked out a nice table by the window and we sat.

"Have you ever had Japanese food before?" I asked.
"No. Never."
"Well I hope you like it."

The waitress brought us tea. I ordered one California roll and two tuna rolls. Pennzoil ordered a plate of chicken tariyaki, three salmon nigiri, and a miso soup. I then ordered a miso soup as well.

Pennzoil took a sip of his tea, then farted. I enjoyed his idiosyncracies.

We started talking. We talked about everything from the government to girls, from racquetball to Zeppelin. There was never an awkward pause, never a gap to fill. I talked about my life, he told me of his. We began to coalesce.

The details of what we talked about are not important. And honestly, I'd like to keep it between us.

After 35 minutes, I paid the bill and we left the restaurant. Outside, with a handshake and a smile, we went our separate ways.

That night, I thought about my life. I thought about how I had a better time at lunch with a homeless man than I did all month hanging out with my friends, family, or girlfriend. What does this mean?

Maybe nothing. But for some strange reason, I feel wiser now - like more seasoned or street-wise. I can't quite pinpoint it; it is just a general feeling.

Perhaps change is a catalyst for growth. And growth is what's needed to fill that spiritual void that most of us have in our lives.

Perhaps Pennzoil is a metaphor... for Jesus.

I recently adopted the Lord Jesus Christ as my Saviour. Jesus was willing to come to the earth, give his life for us, and take upon himself our sins. He, like our Heavenly Father, wanted us to choose whether we would obey Heavenly Father's commandments. He knew we must be free to choose in order to prove ourselves worthy of exaltation. Jesus said, "Father, thy will be done, and the glory be thine forever" (Moses 4:2).

For more information of Jesus and how he can be your "Pennzoil", please visit www.takejesusoutforsushi.org.