A friend of mine once mentioned that he knew that "time was up" if he had to drag his feet to work everyday.
Although I am still far from "dragging" my feet to work...Lord, please please show me your will. Am I the misaligned one??
O God, wont you just say something or show me something so that your Will will be revealed to me...
I shall try to be still and know that You are God.
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"Every person has this tremendous capacity to be both king and warrior, a person of value and a person of accomplishment – of beauty and power."
Tom Cook had come to Europe looking for direction, but he was reluctantly coming to the conclusion that it may have evaded his grasp. Feeling frustrated, he had planned a two-week "getaway vacation" that he hoped would clear his head and give him the opportunity to do some soul searching. Ultimately, he was hoping that his time away from the U.S. would relieve the pressure he felt at home and allow him to make some thoughtful decisions about his future. He had already been to England, France, and Spain, but had yet to come to any clarity about himself. He was still as confused as the day he flew out of J.F.K. Today he found himself in Florence, Italy, the last city on his itinerary—and his time there was almost gone.
But then, something happened….
Florence. Firenze: romance, art, food, and wine. Most who go there live an emotional high as they take in the almost overwhelming beauty of the scenery. The class of the world is held in its museums. Some of the most famous, creative, and influential names in history were born here and made their lives here. It is, in all of its glory, a cultural hub of history and art beyond comparison. One would imagine it would be the perfect place to find direction, joy, and inspiration.
About 12:45 in the afternoon, Tom was sitting on a bench in a bustling plaza. He was tired. Tired of traveling. Tired of walking. Tired of life. Tired of striving. Just tired.
As he sat with his heavy backpack on the ground below him, Tom watched a vast sea of people coming and going, running around just as he does back home. Some of the people seemed happy, others looked like they were in a frenzy to be somewhere, while still others walked along with their love, gazing at each other. But all Tom saw was a sea of people that brought more questions than answers. Where are they going? What do they look forward to? Are they really happy? He hated to admit it, but he was a cynic at thirty. He certainly wasn't happy and couldn't imagine that anyone else could be either. Life didn't work that way it seemed.
As he sat, his head slowly drifted downward into his hands as he lost eye contact with the crowd around him. He was among many but was somehow still alone. Then, just as he was about to launch into a mental pity party, a voice spoke.
"My, my. You look much too young and handsome to be so sad of heart." the voice said.
Tom looked up—barely—to see one who had interrupted his self-loathing. It was an old man. Out of courtesy, he slowly leaned back up, still not saying anything. His eyes locked on the old man, surveying his new acquaintance. The old man was somewhat of a contrast. On one hand he looked…rough. On the other hand, he had an elegant air. He was old, that was for sure. Seventy maybe? Seventy-five? He had dark brown hair and a beard that covered a craggy face. The old man was ready for a trip to the barber. Medium height, thin, but with large biceps and pillar-like forearms. They seemed out of place on the old man's body. He had a "blue collar" look about him.
But the old man's clothes revealed the taste of a connoisseur; you could tell he wasn't buying off the rack at the corner store. This was a man who knew a tailor or two. An expensive beret topped his head, and his brown hair peeked out from underneath with a flare. He wore a beautifully pattern silk shirt flowing down around the top of natty slacks. Of course, this was Italy so his leather shoes were impeccable.
The old man spoke again. "Yes, you are sad. I can tell." He didn't ask permission before he sat down next to Tom. Tom couldn't believe this was happening. He was just getting used to being alone and depressed. "But I can also see that you certainly have much to be happy about. Tell me, what is your name?"
"Tom."
"Tom? Tom… Thomas?"
"Yes, Thomas."
"Ah yes, I see. Like the doubter?" the old man grinned.
"You are doubting aren't you? Doubting Thomas. What are you doubting, Thomas?"
Tom thought to himself. What am I doubting? This is crazy. I have a crazy Italian sitting next to me. Finally he said, "Well, I appreciate your concern, but I am not really doubting anything."
"Pardon me Thomas, I know you must find this intrusive, but I have intuition for these kinds of things. I have been around now forever, it seems. Yes, a very long time. I have seen much. I see that you are doubting. But perhaps you do not like that word. Well, then, what is it that burdens you this day, Thomas?"
What could it hurt? Nothing could get worse that it was. "Well, let's see. I just turned thirty years old. I'm broke. I am nowhere near where I want to be in my career. My girlfriend just dumped me because I don’t have any 'upside' as she calls it. My boss thinks I have zero career potential. Even my parents wonder when I am going to begin to make something of myself. Frankly, I am beginning to believe I'm useless."
A young couple walked by and asked the old man if he would take their picture. He obliged, and they quickly posed for him with touristy grins. When he was finished he returned their camera and they bounded down the street, laughing giddily.
The old man turned back to Thomas, "Useless, I see," said the old man. "That does sound disheartening. I can see why you would be sad, even in this beautiful city. Most people here—especially the tourists—are happy." He paused and then asked, "How long have you been in Florence?"
"This is my third day."
"Three days. That is wonderful! When do you depart?"
"Tomorrow morning at 6:30."
"Oh. Not much time left then."
The old man asked, "Have you taken in any of the artworks of interest?"
"Yes," Tom replied. "I breezed through them. What would a trip to Florence be without seeing the art, right?"
"You make a very good point, young Thomas. I myself think that the art is the most important reason to come to Florence. I assume, then, that you saw Michelangelo's work, the David—Il Gigante as they call it—The Giant?"
"Yeah, sure. That's one of the biggies, right – no pun intended?"
"Yes it is. The biggest in my opinion. And tell me Thomas, what did you learn from the David?"
"Learn? Uh, I didn't learn anything. I saw it. He was huge. Naked. It was great. I left."
"Oh my, you didn't learn anything from Il Gigante?" The old man looked at his watch. "It is one o'clock. Come now, we haven't much time." The old man began to stand as he said this.
Thomas looked up. "Come where? For what?" He was perfectly happy sitting right where he was. Now the old, wanna-be sage wanted to drag him off on an unscheduled tour.
"To go see Il Gigante of course! There is so much to learn from him and from Michelangelo. Come, you will see."
Okay, this is crazy. But the old man had an endearing quality. He was harmless. What else would he do for the rest of the afternoon other than watch birds land on the heads of statues?
Tom stood up and grabbed his backpack as he did. "Okay. I'm game. Let's go."
The old man beamed broadly. "Fantastic, Thomas." He put one arm around Tom and then said something that sank deeply into Tom. "This day will forever change your life."
With this, they began their journey to the foot of Il Gigante in the Galleria dell'Accademia. They made their way through the city walking at a pace Tom would describe as fast. This old guy can really move! "Excuse me, can we slow down a bit? This backpack is kind of heavy."
---Abstract of Chapter 1 from a book ;-)
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