... While he
was speaking, the car began to slow down. In the next few seconds, we had
pulled-over at the Station. The Newcastle Central Station. It hit me! I
realised that the chance to win him over was lost. It's funny right? Funny that
time flies too quickly when you most need it to crawl. Funny how devastated you
feel when an opportunity such as this; one that you constantly anticipate may
have slid right through your fingers. I also find it funny that it takes less
than a second to realise that you have either won at something. Or lost. It is
at times like these, that one realises how important seconds are. Now, I wonder
that if I had spent little or no time at the start of the ride bothering about
luggage I had not forgotten, then maybe this event would have ended
differently. Sigh. We will never know. Will we?
So I read the
meter and handed him the appropriate fair-charge. I arrived at the Station
in good time. As always.
Thank God for
luggage trolleys. My new friend helped lift the suitcases on and I made my way
into the Station. Just me - pretty girl in her short green dress. My
ticket was verified, the short single swing doors opened and I proceeded to the
platform. I spotted a seat beside a young looking couple. We exchanged
pleasantries. Before long I was feasting my eyes on all the incredibly varied
individuals who were passing through the Station right then. They are arriving
and I am departing, I thought to myself. Newcastle is probably home; either
that or it represents a myriad of other things for these folks - shopping
centre, night-club zone, study environment, a link to somewhere else - the list
is endless actually. For me, it is not one but a combination of these.
My thoughts
did not dwell on that. It swiftly drifted back to the taxi driver. Imagine! I
had already forgotten his name. Or did i even ask? I may have forgotten that
but the words he spoke at the tail end of the ride are etched in my
memory.
As he shook
his head in denial, he had a look on his face that almost joined his brows
together in a unibrow. "Surely, there can't be a God!" He says. He
said this in that tone that leaves one unsure as to whether a statement had
been made or a question had been asked. I settled on the former and so I said
nothing... not wanting to derail his train of thought. He continues.
"Okay. Explain to me this - why would a man that is ill who has prayed yet
seen no change, go to the Clinic or the GP, get a prescription, buy medication,
take it and afterwards feel better say that God has healed him?" He
doesn't stop. "Why would a man... one that was involved in an automobile
accident; who was tightly strapped in his car seat with a functioning airbag,
who had his car tumble one or two times yet survive, say that God preserved
him?" He doesn't use the word 'preserve'. It was another from everyday
vocabulary - kept? Rescued? I can't put a finger on it.
"Why does
one who; in one or two clinics, was informed he has cancer go to another
physician who declares him cancer-free, call the change in results a
miracle?" “Hmmmn?" Pause. "Can it not be that the third
Doctor/Clinic was more thorough or smarter or better at the job than the
others?" "Why are folks quick to call everything God's
Handiwork" "How are these miracles? Or products of a relationship
with God?"
Suddenly he
stops and glares at me, as if knowing he may have overdone it or maybe put the
cart before the horse. He asks "Can you even tell me why you believe that
there is a God?"
The questions
rolled off his tongue. It seemed to me that as much I enjoyed such discussions,
he had hoped to meet someone like me for too long. Now, It seems a tad obvious
that those were thoughts that had blossomed in his mind and that that ride had
provided the perfect opportunity to vocalize them.
All the time,
he was going on and on, I was juggling answers in my mind. I have been in this
position before but I can promise that they were not even slightly this
intense. I swear to you that if there ever was a hot-seat, I had
discovered it... as I was sitting right in it.
