JuicingMine is a tale of two cities. I live in two towns, in two countries. It’s a tale of contrasts. In one, I live like a crown prince, with gourmet meals and shiploads of love to go along. In another, I can best be described as a Pauper. A lowly, lonesome, indigent fellow. Sometimes celebrated, but a glorified pauper nonetheless. And this one thing I must tell you, a pauper’s existence is mostly bland and convoluted. A hearty meal one day, and a glass of water in place of that, the very next day. Just like that. A most undefined routine, I tell you. But that story will be told another day.

In the town where I wear my drooping pauper hat, Mondays usually start earlier than the other days. Between running my triweekly 9km, getting ready for the day and fixing my breakfast this morning, I though it would be a splendid idea, at that early hour, to make ready my dinner. I know. I don’t blame you. You would have to be a pauper to understand this. And my alibi for engaging in this dissonance of activity at first light: Today was going to be a long first day of the work week. Once I got back, I would have only enough time to take a shower, eat, read and sleep. Or so, I imagined. 

My day went like clockwork. I was running a well oiled machine, getting things done. Making my contribution. Changing the world. 1, 2, 3. Tick-tock-tick-tock. And then, with no prior warning, my perfect Monday rhythm was rudely punctuated with a fleeting but damning thought. My mind raced as it slowly dawned on me that in my haste to seize the day, I had left the cooking range on. And the stove burning. And the gas flowing. I cringed! Enter Panic. Roll the dice. Enter Fear. Suddenly, changing the world was relegated to back burner. My emotions were oscillating between numbing fear and hope; a glimmer of it. Even in the worst of circumstances, hope has the audacity to rise. And then fear gave way to reason. With my heart still pounding, I wondered if running back there would salvage anything. It was 12 hours already. Surely, my apartment (if not the entire block) would be razed to the ground by now. Flip the coin. And then my phone rung. 

Hey, this is Jacob. 

Hi, my name is Leila, your next door neighbor. 

Hi Leila. 

Leila: Have you been told? We have a problem on the block. 

Me: Thanks for letting me know Leila. I will be there shortly. I won’t be long. 

Whoa. My heart sank. At this point the canvass of my life just got splashed with all manner of smudge. With my head feeling light and dizzy, I started to imagine things that go beyond the imagination. The one that kept recurring was how the other folks on the block would gang up on me and beat me into thin pulp. The only time I see these almost always stressed people is when they hurry into and out of their cars. This was not happening to me. There’s always room for a first. But not this kind. Not on my head. Not on my watch. I imagined reading a newspaper sub-heading the next day: Middle Aged Man Burns Down Apartment Block. Whoa. Am finished! I shook some more. 

In half consciousness, I made my way home. I slowly inched into the parking and slid into my slot. And then looked up. I spied what looked like a huge tool box on the landing by my door and a couple of bags strewn on the floor. The tools must have been used to cut through my door, I figured. And then there was the caretaker on that landing looking menacingly down in my direction. I took this scenario all in and waited a while in the closed safety of the car.  From my vantage spot, save for the unusualness on my landing, everything else seemed intact. The structure was still up. But there was no telling what to expect once I got up there. 

Fast forward an hour later: It turns out Leila is not even here. She was referring to a situation from yesterday. And what was that? My cable connection had tripped hers and she had not been able to watch TV all weekend. She was wondering if I would, perhaps, not mind her using my connection until her problem was taken care of. I gladly approved of her request. I hardly watch TV anyway. And the tool box by my door?  It belonged to the cable TV guy she had called in. And inside my door? The range was in the OFF mode. The gas was in the ON position. 

I could swear I left the range on. But maybe I didn’t. Perhaps it was a modern day domestic miracle. May be not. But that’s not the point. The point is that while I feared the worst would happen, nothing actually happened. I thought about the many life scares I have had. The night I was so convinced I had diabetes. I feverishly scoured the internet for information. The more I read, the more it became a reality. After a joy-sapping and energy-draining 4 hours at my desk, I sauntered into the bedroom, woke up Mona and handed her my stash of print-outs. Leaning back and waiting for some much needed sympathy, I could never have been prepared enough for what was coming. In her half-asleep state, she let out a hearty laugh that got me so confused and somewhat angry at the same time. That was until I joined in the laughter. That night was the last I saw of those notes or even experienced the “signs.”

So as evening fades and I sit out the first hours of the night on my balcony looking into the starless distance, my thoughts drift to the words of another comforter. The one who knew days like these would be part of my sojourn this side of heaven. The one who posts guards to watch over my going out and my coming in. He spoke words that resonate with the humdrum of daily living and yet hold so much truth. Words that energize the faint and give hope to the weary.

Do not fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.*

*Philippians 4:6