A Fish Story

Someone I know sent me a link to a video about a Penn and Teller magic trick with goldfish appearing miraculously in a fish bowl. Magic tricks amaze me all the time, and Penn and Teller are always a lot of fun. When I watched the magic trick it was really something that there is no way to figure out what they did or how they did it, and it was beautiful too, and funny and fun, all these little gold fish appearing in a fish bowl out of nowhere.

There’s a fish story I have from before the time I was born again. Mine is not as visually beautiful as Penn and Teller’s magic trick, but it’s a beautiful story all the same, and certainly miraculous and very funny and fun when you get to the end of it. Sometime in the late 80’s or early 90’s there was a very popular bar on the Upper West Side of Manhattan called Lucy’s Surfeteria. It was a real party of a bar, and they had all kinds of shots that were specialties of the house and if you drank the worm from the bottle of tequila, they’d give you a special prize. I think they gave prizes if you drank a lot too – it was one of those kinds of places where they wanted to you to drink to get drunk. All kinds of celebrities hung out there at one time or another – it had a reputation for being one of the hottest places to go.

At the time I was dating an actor who was in a play with one of the bartenders there, and he invited us to come visit him one Saturday night. It just so happened that it was the night before Easter Sunday, but that didn’t really mean a thing to me in those days. Although that’s not entirely true. Strangely enough, even before I was born again I had a love for Palm Sunday and for Easter Sunday. They were favorite days of mine and I always felt like they were very special somehow. I was planning a really special Easter Sunday dinner and had invited over a good friend – my boyfriend would be there of course and it was planned to be a very delicious and celebratory meal. But that Saturday night was just like any other Saturday night in my mind, so off we went to Lucy’s for a free night’s worth of drinking.

In those days I prided myself on the amount I could drink. I liked to act like I was one of the boys, and that I could hold my own with the men. I don’t know what time we got there, but by the time we left it was after 3 in the morning, and I had of course eaten the worm and had my prize, two rubber fish, one larger than the other, with the smaller fish inside the mouth of the larger one. I was wearing a rain coat, and I put them in the pocket and in my foggy state forgot all about them.

My boyfriend and I got into a cab, even though I didn’t want to. I never liked riding in cabs. I always get car sick in them, and if I was drinking it was of course even worse, and on top of that I think they’re a waste of money too, but my boyfriend wanted to take a cab, so that’s what we did. We started out on West 86^th Street, and by the time we got to 23^rd Street I had to get out of the cab. I told my boyfriend I had to get out and walk or I was going to be sick, and I remember the cab driver yelling, “Don’t throw up in my cab!” At the time I was living on West 10^th Street all the way over to the West Side Highway, and 23^rd Street was a bit of a hike but I’ve always been someone who liked to walk, and at that point I had to.

We got out of the cab and started walking down 9^th Avenue, and at some point we got to somewhere just below the meat packing district. In those days it was really desolate at night and could be dangerous in that area, not like the trendy hot-spot it is now. There was nothing open at all at that hour except maybe one restaurant if it was open in those days. For the most part there was nothing there at all except for artists’ lofts that some people lived in but that were definitely not door men buildings. While we walked down through those dark and deserted streets, a big black car drove by and someone yelled something out the window at us. I have no idea now what they said, but whatever it was, I yelled back, “Oh go *&#* yourself!” I used to have a mouth like a truck driver, something the Lord took away, thank you Jesus. I used to think it was cool to talk like that, not understanding that bitter water and sweet water can’t flow out of the same well. (James 3:11)  The car stopped, and some of the biggest and toughest and meanest looking men got out – I’m sure they were drug dealers because the car they were driving was a kind of car, a big black one with an antenna for cable tv, that everyone knew was the kind of car drug dealers drove. I don’t know how many of them there were, but they were huge and they surrounded me, pushing aside my boyfriend who was not a big guy at all and separating us. One of the guys asked me what I’d said, and I repeated it, and then he said, “Oh, yeah? Well, do you know what I have here?” and he showed me his gun. I said, “Well, look at what I have,” and I pulled out the fish from Lucy’s. At that point, all the men cracked up laughing. They were laughing so hard they almost couldn’t stand up. Then one of them said, “She is so drunk! Let’s get out of here,” and they got back into their car and drove away.

The next day, needless to say, I was in very bad physical shape. I could barely get out of bed to make the dinner, and when I was able to do something I had to keep going back to lie down on the couch in between. But when my friend came over and I started to tell him why I was in such a state, I remembered the story and got the fish out of my coat pocket to show him. I still have those fish now, I keep them on the side of the bath tub, and every time I look at them I remember that story.

Now that I am born again, when I look at them I remember that story with more than a general feeling of thankfulness that what could have been a nightmare turned out to be very funny. I know now that there is only one way that story turned out the way that it did, and that is because of the mercy and love of the very same God who went to the cross that we remember on Easter Sunday. When I think of the disrespect I was showing to Him with my drunken carousing and foul language that night, I’m ashamed at the foolishness and wastefulness of that life I lived before. But even in the midst of that abominable behavior, He still showed up, with fish no less, the sign that He gives to believers everywhere that He is with us.

What can you say to a God who not only went to the cross for you, but who also personally forgives you of your sins? What can you say to a God who loves you even when you are doing things that are so far from loveable? What do you say when your eyes are finally opened and you can see clearly that the way you have been living your life is so far away from anything that is good or beautiful or kind or redeeming? What can you say when you understand that through it all He was still looking out for you and watching over you and waiting patiently for you to finally get sick enough of the mess you are living in to finally want to change? There are no words to say to a God like that, because thank you isn’t enough. All I can do is to say take what is left of my life, and use it to bring your healing love to others.

Blessings,

Jannie Susan