Unshakable

  

   Just like a revolving door, people come and go in our lives. Some are easily forgotten; others we try to forget. But there are those who leave a sweet imprint in our hearts for a simple thing they have done. A seemingly insignificant act, yet beautiful and powerful.

   They are the few. The few that stands out. They are the ones we can’t shake off our minds. They are heaven-sent stardusts that were instrumental in helping us find more meaning in the way we see ourselves. The strong impact they have on us will always linger like a white cloud. Wherever the path leads us, somewhere, somehow, something will remind us of these very special people _ inspiring us once more, over and over again.

   For the rest of my life, I will never forget Manuel, the happiest and the most contented man I have ever known.
  
   He was a scrappy-looking older man with short gray hair. Although he lived alone, he was far from a hermit. Maybe somewhat peculiar with his penchant for wearing light blue pants with a matching jacket that was emblazoned with religious pins, but otherwise, harmless and friendly. He belonged to the Catholic Church and felt secured in his Christian faith.
  
   His strong religious conviction made him look crazy to many who would roll their eyes when they saw him. But I totally disagreed. I saw a man with a positive outlook on life. He was a light-hearted man who never offended anyone. He always had something nice to say, so at peace with himself and certainly spiritually connected to God.

   Manuel and I both worked for the TTC. He was a janitor and I was a sign painter. Whenever I sensed that he was in the area sweeping the floor, I would get his attention and entice him to stop by. We would then multi-task, chatting as he pushed the broom while I continued painting signs. He enjoyed looking at my work as much as I enjoyed his Maltese accent and his infectious laugh at my silly jokes. He would then retreat laughing in embarrassment when I referred to him as a saint.

   One morning, across the shop, I saw Manuel pacing hurriedly towards me. He had his usual child-like glee. In his right hand was something wrapped in a white cloth and was waving it as he came closer.

   “Mario, I have something to show you,” he said with his blue eyes glowing in excitement while unveiling the surprise. “I found this in the garbage. Someone threw it there. Can you believe it?”

  I was taken aback. Manuel had just presented me with a battered sculpture of Jesus straight from the dump! _ discoloured with dirt and badly defaced from its original glory. The halo was broken and the body was marred with deep rugged cuts and unflattering scratches. I did not know what to say. I just stared at it in a state of shock. Why? How could anyone do this? It was horrible.

  Again I heard Manuel, “You are a good artist. You can fix it and paint it, can’t you?”

  “It will require a bit of work and time. But yes, I can fix it.” was my response as I envisioned what it would look like when fully restored.

   Manuel stepped back. Nodded his head in approval and smilingly said, “He is yours.” Then turned around and walked away, leaving me still holding the greatest gift I ever received from a friend.

   Eleven years have passed and the battered sculpture of Jesus is still untouched. It has remained the same as it was then. I realized that the restoration would defeat the underlying message that was delivered at my door.

   The damage inflicted on the sculpture of Jesus is a firm statement of the pains He endured during the crucifixion and His dying for my salvation. They are also there to constantly remind me of my imperfections and the amount of work I need to do to fill my own cracks and voids, to be worthy of God’s love.

   Today, it hangs on my kitchen wall by the door. I see it every day and I prefer to see it that way. Every time I look at it, I remember Manuel, my unshakable friend who was guided by the Holy Spirit to find and bring me the daily reminder of God’s unshakable and unconditional love.