The Mist of My Legs
Great gifts often come out of the blue. Someone knows something about you, something small and secret perhaps, and their gift touches that part of you in a creative and imaginative way.
GIFT ONE
My father gave me a catcher’s mitt for my 16th birthday even though a knee injury had forced me to move to shortstop a couple of years before.
My mom said, “Why d’you buy him a catcher’s mitt? He’s not a catcher anymore.”
“I know what I’m doing,” was all he said.
You cannot explain the beauty of a well-worn catcher’s mitt. You either understand the joy of a hard-thrown ball popping into its thick leather, or you do not. I understood that joy and my dad knew it.
The best part of the gift was discovering how deeply my father knew me. That catcher’s mitt sits in my office today, a very present reminder.
GIFT TWO
In the days when J. and I were engaged, she once answered the door of her apartment with a banana in her hand.
Understand that this woman hates bananas with a religious zeal. The smell of a banana makes her skin crawl, and one bite makes her gag.
She was in a very silly mood that night. She flung open the door and said, “This is how much I love you,” and took a huge bite out of the banana. Then she doubled over, giggling and gagging at the same time. I guess you could say she was "gaggling."
I laughed so hard that my shoulders shook, and I said, “You idiot” in a way that made it clear I was really saying, “You’re so funny and I love you.”
She loved me enough to eat a banana, and she knew me well enough to know that I would appreciate a weird thing like that.
And I thought, “My life with this woman is going to be so much fun.”
GIFT THREE
Recently I received a wonderful gift from a total stranger. Reagan, also known as Sulaco, drew a picture of Real Live Preacher and sent it to me. Reagan has never seen me, but somehow he knows what I look like.
Reagan Lodge 2003
That is absolutely my hair. Dead on. And I think I have that look in my eyes some Sunday nights after everyone has gone to bed, and I’m staying up because I don’t want Monday to come.
And sometimes I cling to my cross and my bible when all else fails. Then I wonder why I waited so long to cling to them.
But what I like best are the fading legs. You see, I tend to lose sight of my own legs at times. Sometimes I arrive at church early, and out of nowhere I get the feeling that I haven’t got a leg to stand on. My head swims, and I get a little panicky when I remember that I'm going to need to be sure of myself soon. Sure enough to stand and preach without being a liar.
I go to church early because sometimes it takes me three hours to be sure.
But I always do stand and preach. I always do. Somehow I am always standing when the people arrive. And if I am standing, then I must believe that somewhere down there in the mist of my legs and the myth of my strength is a very solid rock indeed.
Thank you Reagan. This gift was more than I deserve, but like Clint Eastwood and Jesus say, "Deserving's got nothing to do with it."
rlp
9:14:41 AM 
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