Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned.
-WB Yeats

She’d been crying, but I didn’t know.

The morning was going very much as usual. The unmerciful flood of emails, texts, and Facebook messages had started up around 7:30am, and hadn’t slowed down a bit; and my third cup of coffee was starting to clear away the cobwebs. Something about the insistence of the morning light through my east-facing window and the warmth of the mug (my favorite one that says commercial real estate on it) was reassuring. It was going to be a good day.

My company is a bit different from most real estate firms. We decided in the teeth of the recession that we weren’t going to go under, and came up with a lot of creative ways to make that happen. One of those was the trade program where we would buy someone’s old home if they bought one of our new ones. She and I had been texting back and forth since the day before and I had decided the trade program was a definite possibility. That’s what made me so good at my job: the ability to communicate with 43 people in a day’s time and narrow down instinctively on the two or three who were qualified to make a deal. My gut said she was definitely one of those.

Her text abruptly interrupted my reverie:

At this time of day, that meant the prospect was very serious; most people put me off for a day or two at least so they could pick up stuff around their old home and make it more presentable. I responded right away:

The vast majority of my customers do not give a flying rip about how long the drive is for me. And they could not possibly care less about what suits me. And they definitely don’t know how to use an ellipsis properly! I was rather impressed:

The simple smiley-face was also unusual, in today’s world of a different emoji for every situation. I had a feeling things were going to go well.

Her reply was really brief, but I had already pegged her as someone who did not waste time or information. As I pulled in the driveway and got out of the truck, I’d already made up my mind. The home was well-kept and the yard was neatly trimmed in a good location (as good as it gets in Pittsylvania County, anyway); I knew this was so happening.

We did introductions and came in the house for a tour. Halfway through I knelt down to say hello to her eight-year-old daughter, who was building a pillow fort in the living room. You’re always supposed to do that stuff to be successful as a salesperson, but I always actually enjoyed it. Kids have no pretenses.

Walking through the home, we continued to get acquainted and talk about the trade program. I have dealt with enough of the public by now to be able to instantly appreciate a girl who is attractive but not flirtatious, who will tell you straight up what she is thinking and not try to take things in a stupid direction. She paused in the back yard to pick up some random toys, and looked up to ask me directly, “So, do you think we can make a deal?”

It was a textbook sales meeting and I had everything I needed to move forward. I assured her we would be doing business, and looked at my watch to see how I was doing for the next appointment. “It’s been great meeting you,” I said, making vague leaving-type movements.

“Want a drink of water before you go?” she asked. “You seem to cover a lot of ground with your work.”

She’d been crying, but I didn’t know.

“Sure, I wouldn’t turn that down,” I laughed. “I love to drive with the window open, so I always have trouble staying hydrated.”

She dug around in the kitchen cabinet and finally came up with this ridiculous-looking pink cup with paste diamonds all over it. “You won’t have to worry about losing this, or getting it back to me!” she smiled.

I thanked her and drove off. Her daughter waved me down the driveway, and the windswept pastures all around us beckoned me off into the rest of my day.

When you work in sales and you have more than 14,000 names in your phone, the memories of most of them grow dim, all too quickly. To this day I still see people in Martin’s and they’re like “Hey Jeremy!! So good to see you, thanks for our home, we love it” and I’m like “Ah – good to see you too!” and have no earthly clue who they are. And the nails and lumber and dollars and cents so easily displace all the faces I have encountered over the years.

But for all the people you pass by in this business, you always remember the ones who really showed you a glimpse of their heart. We did the trade program, she moved, life went on for a while, things went terribly wrong in her life and I wept for her, things went beautifully well in her life and I rejoiced for her. And it was many, many months until I knew she’d been crying that morning when we first met, and that her kindness to me had come out of a dark and lonely place, where not much hope was left.

Every person of faith, I have come to realize, has a story like that. Every one of us in our ever-widening gyres loses sight of our Falconer, and the ceremony of our innocence is drowned in the merciless flood of life. Dreams that meant so much to us are shattered; the walls close in so ruthlessly on the long, gray days when the rescue we wait for does not come; the things we have so carefully put together fall apart; what we thought for so long was the centre of our lives cannot hold.

But with the unutterable beauty of the people God brings into our lives, a new centre emerges, and things come back together, and the walls open up again, and dreams of hope return; and it is not a hope without certainty. There are blood-stains on their garments now, and on their bodies they will forever bear the marks of Jesus. And it is by their fruits that you know them, when they do the things He did. I am not able to drink from the cup of judgment from which He drank; but I know that a gift so simple and heartfelt as a pink cup with paste diamonds on it – a cup of water in the Master’s name – gave me a taste of truth that I will never forget.

JV

Photo credit: http://www.mostmercifuljesus.com

Author: Jeremy Vogan

My name is Jeremy Vogan. I live in Staunton, VA with my wife and four kids. I love to write, and seek to honestly explore the intellectual and emotional implications of following Jesus as a deeply broken person in a twisted, cruel world that is full of veiled beauty and meaning. Writing is part of how I faithfully look for Jesus Christ to someday make all things new. I'd enjoy hearing your feedback! JV