Billy Coffey

storyteller

  • Home
  • About
  • Latest News
  • Books
  • Blog
  • Contact

Affecting the world

March 21, 2013 by Katdish 5 Comments

image courtesy of photobucket.com
image courtesy of photobucket.com

There are stories I found and stories that have found me. As I sat at the small table outside the local coffee shop, I decided this was a story that found me. And I’m glad it did. I was also glad I was paying enough attention to see it, because it almost passed right by me.

The principal character was your stereotypical little old lady. Seventy-ish. Gray hair and a neatly pressed dress that was the sort of yellow that said Hello Spring! Making her way down the sidewalk in front of me.

The years had not been so kind to her, I noticed. The stoop in her posture gave the appearance that she was about to fall headfirst into the pavement. It was an accident waiting to happen that may have only been averted by the slight limp in her right leg. Yet she managed to not only make her way, but to do so with a smile on her lips and a heartfelt “Good morning!” to anyone in her path.

She would pause in her walk just long enough to offer one of those helloes and to look at the parking meters evenly spaced to her left. The distractions of both people and technology were enough to guarantee added minutes—and quite possibly hours, I considered—to her journey from wherever she came from to wherever she was going. And yet the thought crossed my mind that this was a person unconcerned with neither distance nor time. The destination wouldn’t matter if no enjoyment was had along the way.

She jumped when she came upon the third parking meter and looked around as if some great catastrophe was about to occur. Then she squared up in front of it like an old West gunslinger ready to draw. Instead of a six shooter, out came a coin. Into the meter it went. She waited for the click that guaranteed more time, patted the machine on the side like she would her grandson’s face, and walked on.

Next down the line was a young lady who had walked out of the courthouse not twenty minutes earlier. I had seen the yellow sheet of paper she was carrying and could only assume what was written on it constituted much more bad than good. She slumped against a newspaper box and lit a cigarette, then watched her exhale float up and disappear, no doubt wishing her troubles would do the same. There she had stood ever since, waiting for the miracle of either a better life or a quicker death.

The little old lady paused beside her and spoke. I couldn’t hear what was said and so tried to convince myself it didn’t matter. I had the feeling they were simple words and not profound. A comment about the beautiful day, perhaps, or maybe a short hello.

Regardless, a few moments later the old lady waved and left, continuing her curvy path toward me. The young lady watched her go and finished her smoke.
And then something curious happened.

Just as she stepped on the remains of her cigarette, the young lady smiled. A big, toothy smile. The best sort of smile.

“Good morning, young man,” the old lady said as she passed.

“Good morning, ma’am,” I answered.

She continued on, eyes forward and not back, content to watch what was around her rather than behind. Which was a tragedy, really. Because not only did that nice old lady miss the smile she put on that young girl’s face, she also missed a young man’s reaction when he sprinted out of a nearby shop sure he would find a ticket on the windshield of his car, but confused to find instead plenty of extra time left on his meter.

Yes. Quite a tragedy. Life was full of tragedies, I thought. Like the misfortune of hurrying or the heartbreak of circumstance.

But at that moment I realized what may be the biggest tragedy of all—that we can always see the effect of this world upon us, but rarely the effect of us upon the world.

Filed Under: choice, encouragement, purpose, witness

How You Wear Your Hat

March 10, 2009 by Billy Coffey 12 Comments


(My thanks to Tina Dee for spotlighting me on Bustles and Spurs. If you’d like to read her post, go here.)

Now, about that hat…

I come from a long line of hat-wearers, which has little to do with the fact that all the men in my family are…uh…follically challenged. My grandfather wore a hat every day of his life. Never went out the door without one. So, too, does my father, who carries on the tradition with an array of ball caps that pronounces his allegiance to everything from the University of Virginia football team to Callaway golf clubs.

Ball caps have become my choice of head garment as well, and I own many. But I have always wanted a fedora like my grandfather’s. He loved his hat. Always made a point to lambaste me for thinking my Yankee hat was the proper equivalent to his, too. “Comparing your hat to mine,” he would say, “is like comparing Tom Cruise to Gary Cooper.”

Point taken.

When my favorite ball cap recently began to show a little excess wear, I thought it might finally be time to buy a proper hat.

Then, after the UPS man dropped it on the porch and I tried it on, I had another thought:

Maybe it’s not.

Not because I didn’t like it (I did), and not because my wife did not give her approval (she did). No, it was because of the peculiar sensation I was getting that even though I was a fedora guy on the inside, maybe I wasn’t ready to be one on the outside.

Yes, I am thirty-six. And yes, peer pressure shouldn’t matter so much anymore. Yet here I am nearly twenty years out of high school, and I have yet to rid myself of the overwhelming need to fit in. Walking around all day hearing chuckles and a chorus of “Hey Indiana”? Not fitting in.

***

I kept the hat. I suppose I could say that I did so because I loved it and decided that meant more than what anyone else would say. That would be partly true. The other part of the truth was that returning the hat would require filling out paperwork, a trip to the UPS store, and more time than I could spare. Sad, I know. But true. Which left only one other option: I could keep the hat on the shelf in my closet, hidden away from the world, and bring it out only within the safe confines of my family.

But that didn’t sound right. I am a great pretender. Adept at not revealing those aspects of myself that run contrary to the perceived norm. The real me is masqueraded daily in elaborate costumes designed to both hide and reveal depending upon my immediate surroundings. I am rarely me in public. Not wholly, anyway.

And I’m not just talking about my love for fedoras. My desire to not cause waves, to go with the flow, extends to other things. Things like my faith.

How many times have I sat with a group of friends laughing at jokes I should not be laughing at? And how many times have I been silent when I should have spoken, and spoken when I should have been silent? How many times should I have said “I’ll pray for you” rather than “It’ll be okay”? How many opportunities have I missed to point the way to Christ?

When judgment comes and the sheep are separated, how many of the condemned will shout my name and say, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I was about to put my hat where I often put my faith. On a shelf in the closet of my life. Visible only among those close to me, where it’s safe.

Those parts of us that we hide for fear of chuckles and snorts, whether as incongruous a the love for a hat or as serious as the faith we hold true, are us. Who we are. To live any other way is to live a lie. And I for one was tired of the costumes.

***

I’ve worn both my hat and my faith the same way since: out in the open, for all to see. I’m wearing them now as a matter of fact, sitting beneath the shade of an oak at work. People pass. They smile and wave and say to those with them, “Now that’s a hat.” People like my hat. And I’m glad they do.

It’s a good start, I think. But I hope it won’t end there. Maybe soon they’ll smile and wave and say to those with them, “Now that’s a Christian.”

Filed Under: Christianity, faith, living, witness

Connect

Facebooktwitterrssinstagram

Copyright © 2022 · Author Pro Theme on Genesis Framework · WordPress · Log in