The Message

The Message

By CJ Joseph

It’s hard to say why I noticed him, he wasn’t particularly handsome or odd in any way that would make one take notice, except for his scribbling.

The coffee shop was filled with the usual crowd of 50 somethings enjoying a familiar, barely palatable breakfast; the teenagers with their noses buried in their smart phones drinking sweet frothy breakfast drinks that resembled milkshakes; and the 20 to 45 demographics with Borg-like apparatuses sticking out of their ears while they engaged in conversations with disembodied associates drinking a variety of coffee drinks with fancy Italian names. No one really “present” with those at their table or even their own thoughts. It was like a cacophony of separate worlds had collided in the room and no one was even aware of the universe beside them.

Except for him…he wasn’t “old” maybe 40ish, still wearing his khaki trench like he couldn’t be bothered to take it off and hang it on the hook at the end of the booth. I watched him for at least 20 minutes, so intently focused on what he was writing…yes, writing with an actual implement which I could not identify from where I sat…I didn’t give it a second thought until later that he wasn’t typing or dictating into a device, there were no chargers or cords or on/off buttons, just a little black book and an expression of complete rapture in the task at hand. He appeared to be drinking plain coffee, that was enough to pique my interest and then he looked up with a beatific smile right at me…not through me, or near me, or in the ether surrounding me…but full-on eye contact and a great smile.

I do not know what possessed me, but I had to know what was behind the smile, the secret of the little black book and how, in this about to go supernova of a coffee shop, he noticed my little world watching him. So, I gathered my purse and my coat and made my way over to ask him. I’m a pretty old-fashioned woman, not what anyone would call "forward" and I’m at an age where for most, I’m beginning my descent into invisibility – so this walking over to a stranger to ask what was bringing them so much joy was, at the very least, out of character and might be, if I were younger and so inclined, more than a little creepy. He watched me walk over and seemed amused? maybe curious? Just not surprised or apprehensive about a strange older woman walking over to him. As I got closer, I started to panic…what was I going to say, “what’s in the book?”; that sounded a little like a nosy neighbor; maybe, “whatcha doin’?”; what am I twelve?; “how do you do?”, okay, that sounds like I’m 80. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a large coffee shop, and I was there, at his 2-top, and all I managed to squeak out was, “may I ask you something?”

He looked amused, maybe indulgent was a better word…” what is it?”, he replied, looking at me like I was going to ask him on a date (a “what in the world is she going to ask that requires permission” look on his face).

“You look so engrossed in your writing, and you appear so blissful compared to everyone else in here. I was just wondering if you were writing jokes? Or a love poem? Or million-dollar idea? Or some wonderful joy-inspiring wisdom you could share?” Yes, it was a bizarrely long question, full of options and I wasn’t even sure I had time for the answer if he chose to reply. But there was no way to inquire about what he was doing that didn’t sound like I was coming on to him, or just being weird.

He blinked, stared at me for a moment, and simply said, “yes, it’s all of those things”.

“Not to sound nosy or anything, but more out of curiosity, would you mind sharing? Especially the words of wisdom and joy. I noticed how present you seem and how happy…and everyone else in here seems so plugged-in and disconnected simultaneously. I have a list of things to do today, and I’m sure you do, so I completely understand if…”

“Sit”, he said simply, not commanding but a heartfelt invitation, and gestured to the seat across from him. “I’m at a great point, to stop and share”. So, I sat.

“I’m Thaddeus,” he said, “and you are?”

“Elizabeth,” I said, suddenly feeling rather shy.

“Well, Elizabeth, I’m surprised and maybe a little flattered that you asked about my book. If you must know I am a preacher and jot all the time for my sermons. I learned a long time ago that God presents himself to me every day and if I pay attention, I might miss what is being said, so I watch, and listen, and write. I also learned that if I write something that ends up on the paper it isn’t always what my brain thinks…so, I assume right or wrong that somehow there is spirit or magic working through me, down my arm, through my hand and into my little black book.” He smiled. “It’s amazing how many times, what is in the book comes to pass, or gets translated into a message that someone needs to hear,” he said softly.

“Do you think that with all the gadgetry in here that someone might be learning the same thing, possibly more efficiently? I’m just asking because I actually get more from writing as well…”, I really did want to know.

He cocked his head aside and looked around the room, and said, “Well, let’s say just for discussion sake that yes, Spirit or God, chose to speak to people through their gadgets…and that there is only one source that ties us all together, that’s a premise I need to restate…I would think that whatever the message is being sent/received would be diluted. Let’s just say the message being sent was “slow down” and just to the people in this coffee shop. Well, all of us would be receiving it in a different way, but I am sitting here writing in my book, focused on any impressions I am receiving. If you are receiving it in a text message while ordering or walking, or talking, or having it beamed into your head while the waitress is telling you the specials and it may not be direct so you may, in that split second, re-interpret what is happening. Let’s say the waitress, who is distracted from where she’s going by a needy customer, steps into a wet spot, bumps into a chair and drops everything on her tray…I see “slow down, be present” the teens look up from their phones and grin perhaps they see “klutz”, the people with the ear thingys, see their coffee is going to take longer to get to them, at best, a “be patient” reminder. The plug in allows the receiver to engage in a one-way reception, all about them, I have to look up and actually engage with my source for a response…”

Just then a clatter of dishes hit the floor behind me, and I turned to see a waitress with a look of embarrassment and trepidation on her face. As I gazed at all the faces around the room, I could see the expressions of everything Thaddeus had just said - the youngest people were smirking or outright laughing (“klutz” and “glad it wasn’t me” apparent in their expressions), the mid-range of customers were heavily sighing or rolling their eyes in resignation…what I also noticed was that most of the reactions were about the observer, not the waitress or the event, they missed the message. I turned back to ask Thaddeus how he knew…but he was gone just like that…poof! I got up and went over to the waitress and asked her if she needed help. She looked at me and smiled, “I’m OK, thanks for asking,” was all she said.

On my way out I passed the table where Thaddeus and I had our brief chat, and there was a note:

Elizabeth, thank you for listening. Get yourself a little black book, or any color that resonates with you, and you’ll be surprised how Spirit speaks to you, T

On the walk home, feeling as if I’d been touched by magic, I stopped by the newsstand and bought a lottery ticket, just for fun, and looked across the street. There was a bookstore I hadn’t noticed before, so I went in and browsed for a while and left with a small simple black notebook and thought, “what an interesting way to talk to God.”

After a short informal prayer for some insight that evening, I began writing about my day, and Thaddeus, and the trip I would take sans electronic devices if I won the lottery.

I felt myself smiling as I gazed out the window of the plane, and mused," I’m off to Greece with my little black book". So far, all that is in it is the story of the coffee shop, a photo of the twenty-thousand dollar winning lottery ticket, and many pages for conversations with Spirit (and interesting people) and the magic waiting to happen…