Meeting Jesus

So life has been a smidgen stressful lately due to causes partly my own and partly due to the financial crisis. Long story short, I found myself without a source of income for my internship at the end of February. Confident (or foolishly thinking) that I would be able to find free-lance English work on the side, I volunteered to remain at UBA so I could finish my project and publish two posters for international conventions.

And the English jobs did pop up quickly, only to fall-through one by one frustrating week after frustrating week. I've gotten very good at making my euro stretch and making the cheapest meals imaginable (I'm eating lentils and potatoes as I write this) but there was one thing that I relied heavily on: my bike. Riding my bike all around Berlin allows me to not have to pay for the U-bahn, ever. And while 2,10 might not seem like much, that's more than enough for 2 loaves of bread.

This Tuesday I was feeling particualrly low as my business English student that I thought was a gaurentee, said he had to cancel because he didn't have the money. To top it off I got a flat tire on the way to work; the same tire, for the third time. Not wanting to spend three and a half loaves of bread to take my bike on the S-bahn (you have to buy a ticket for the bike too) and since it was nice out, I decided to walk my broken bike home. I have a tire patch kit, so I could fix it and be back in business the next day.

So there I was, disheartened, pushing my pathetic little bicycle 10 km from UBA to my place in Wedding. I was about 6 km there when I passed a man talking on his cell phone. It sounded like he said something to me, and maybe he did, but I wasn't going to stop since it sounded akin to a cat call. But then my bike stops me. I look down and the rubber band thing that seems to serve no purpose other than cause problems that is also shoved inside the tire along with the innertube, had fallen out in some sections and managed to wrap itself around the gear thingy of the back tire. So much so that the tire would no longer turn. At this point I was pretty numb to crap happening in life, so I didn't throw a temper tantrum like I would if this were just one bad day in a sea of relatively normal ones.

What happened next was nothing out of the ordinary. The guy had ended his cell phone call, and walked over to me, asking if my bike was broken. Well, obviously. Ok, I didn't say that, I said 'Wie, bitte?' a lot. Which is 'What?' in English because his German was very hard to understand through his thick accent which I soon learned was Palestinian. Of course next came what always comes next when I have trouble understanding people: the guess my nationality game. Rarely does anyone guess American on the first try. I don't know why this is, and I'm not complaining. I like that I blend in. I think this guy guessed German, Polish and English before I told him I was American. So then he starts speaking English. Or attempting too. That was fun. He definitely wins the 'worst English I've heard' award. It would have been easier to communicate in German. But no, this guy insisted on speaking Deutschlish (combination of the two). He was telling me how much he would like to help me. Saying I should leave my bike locked up at his shop (he's a car mechanic) and he could give me a ride home...but only if I wasn't afraid. He could probably read the look of skeptism on my face (not that I was trying to hide it). But my skeptism came with good reason since he doesn't know me and is probaly somewhere in the neighborhood of 40. Plus he was obviously trying to impress me by talking about his big appartment and telling me I have a beautiful name. He said he could fix my bike for me, and I could come get it the next day. Well, I had no money to give this guy and every intent to fix it myself. So I told him that. And he insisted that I didn't have to pay, he just wanted to help.

If I could have pushed my bike, I would have simply walked away. But since the back tire wouldn't move anyway, and I was tired from walking 6km already plus the 3 or so I had to walk in the morning after my tire went flat, I thought, 'what else can I do?' and accepted his offer. It was only a short way home. Right before we reached my street he asked if I had eaten yet (it was about 7:30 pm). I sighed and said 'no'. I was hesitant because I wanted to get away from him as soon as possible simply because the less time one spends alone with a strange man the better, but I was also sick at the thought of going home and eating rice for the 3rd meal in a row. But then he says, 'I get you some chicken. You like chicken? You take it with you and eat at home.' and he pulls up to a place not far from my house. I was immediately relieved. I thought his asking if I had eaten was his ploy to get me to go to dinner and spend more time with him. But no, he simply pulled over to the side of the road, left the keys in the car and joked 'don't steal my car' before running in to buy a meal to go.

And as I sat in the car waiting for him to return, with aching feet and an empty stomach, I thought to myself; this is Jesus. I am meeting Jesus through this middle-aged Palestinian car mechanic who barely speaks English. I've taught campers every summer about how we experience God the most through other people. And it's not that I don't believe that, I do. It's just that unfortunately, this world we live in isn't full of people who want to help you without expecting something in return.

He dropped me off around the corner and went home to eat my feast.

I wish this was the nice happy ending, but unfortunately, my bike got stolen from outside his shop that night. So now I have no bike. But he apologized profusely and offered to buy me a new one, so I believe that Jesus didn't steal my bike.