The Glow Man

1994. Nashville, Tennessee. Downtown. City Lights Arts and Music Festival.

The streets were packed as the evening crowd ambled down Union Street. On both sides were t-shirt vendors and craft tables, a magician and a fire-breathing juggler. The intoxicating bouquet of barbeque chicken permeated the sticky air and overwhelmed my olfactory system as it moistened my tongue.

This being Music City, the strumming and warbling of ten thousand dreamers echoed across the cavernous skyscrapers.

In a few feet you could go from a wannabe Patsy Cline, to a trio of steel drum players, to the bluesy piano of the original lead singer of Blood, Sweat and Tears. Stand on the right corner at an angel you would be enveloped by a cacophony of genres all ganging up on your ears.

And there I stood all alone selling plastic glow necklaces. For every dollar one sold I took home fifty cents.

This was not my fulltime job, mind you, I was doing this on a lark. I happened to see an ad in an "underground newspaper" and thought it might be fun. I and a dozen others met in the parking lot of a Waffle House. A man in a beat-up white Chevy van gave us each a box of plastic neon tubes and a few one dollar bills. He closed the doors to the van and said "be back here at midnight."

I was always a little off socially. I did not offend; I just couldn't fit in. I strove to be gregarious. But, sometimes to me, people seemed like pictures in a book. I just couldn't relate to people my own age. I lacked the skill to read their faces. Most of the time, I couldn't tell if my quips, jokes and insights were even being heard.

In 1993, after a failed stint renting strollers in Walt Disney World at the Magic Kingdom, I returned home to Hermitage, Tennessee, a satellite city of Nashville. I stayed with my aunt who was ebbing into dementia. I worked temp jobs and began attending an older populated congregation near the house.

I always related to the elderly. They tended to adore me because I gave them attention and a bright smile. I relished their effusion but, I was at an age when I questioned my personal definition of happiness. I missed the affections of a young lady but more than that I craved some semblance of a social life.

Determined to improve my lot, I made the decision to attend Antioch Church of Christ. Even though it was in a different part of town, it had a reputation of being a hub for twenty something singles.

I joined a young professionals class and made a couple of friends. Occasionally, I would join them for lunch at Shoney's restaurant after services but I was mostly an outsider.

One Sunday, despondent, I decided the old people church was safe and much easier to get to so I went there and left Antioch behind.

The elderly still liked me and it was fun to be an encourager but I couldn't help wondering what would have happened at Antioch if I had stayed.

City Lights Arts and Music Festival.

An hour in I had sold nine glow necklaces. If I maintained the pace I could almost pay for parking.

Twirling to create a rainbow of spinning plates illusion helped bring a few more sales I might could afford a thin sliced brisket. After a while, with no sales and a string of disappointments I just gave up. I stood there, two dozen glow necklaces wrapped around each arm, an American flag fanny pack stuffed with Washingtons, amid ten thousand neighbors but all alone.

The low lighting took away the individuality of the endless parade of happy souls. It was like my brain was just taking a break. The din of noises faded. I phased in an out of reality. Though my Nikes were firmly planted on the deep asphalt, in the shadow of the State Capitol Building I was not there. I was no longer myself. I was anyone, everyone, no one. I was ten thousand miles away in the cruel, sweltering twilight of the Sahara.

I just... I was gone.

I closed my eyes and prayed, "Lord, please, I don't know what to do. I want to make friends with people my own age but I just don't know how to do it. I beg of You, show me a way."

As my eyes opened, a familiar face shimmered through the mass of humanity.

The young man stopped. "Are you Jason Goldtrap?"

"I am."

"Don't you go to Antioch Church of Christ?"

I shrugged. "I used to but... but I dunno what's going on with me any more."

"Well, I wish you would come back. We need you."

And with that he disappeared into the crowd.

Sunday, fifteen minutes before Bible Class, I was seated on the front row. I made so many friends that day. Men and women of quality character. My life was charged with confidence and cohesion. And over the next few years my I roared with laughter, trembled with tears and sang a New Song.

That young man who came to me out of the darkness became one of my best friends and he was my best man when a few years later I married a beautiful lady I met at the same congregation.

Don't believe the great painters of the Renaissance, angels do not have snow wings and halos they wear Vols caps and ELO t-shirts.

God's goodness as displayed in men give the blessing of tranquility and encouragement we all need.

Goodness bumps into you on the sidewalk and you snap your attention and your eye catches a hunched over elderly woman who needs help crossing the street.

Goodness reminds you that you'll never walk alone.

Goodness lets you know that the seed you sow can spring a harvest a hundred-fold.

Time is the only irreplaceable resource. Thank you for your time.

Someday, you might feel lost, lonely and a million miles away, just remember, someone you may not know wants you to have the best. All you have to do is open your eyes.