Through A Glass Darkly

Through a Glass Darkly

He was obnoxiously loud, dirty, and smelling of rank tobacco. Coughing, and
hacking he made his way to the seat just behind me. I cringed, wondering what virus I
might catch from this disgusting lump of humanity. George, it seemed, was the epitome
of poor hygiene. My first impression of George was a lasting one, albeit a narrow
uneducated assumption, and a sharp contrast to my final impression.
The winter of 2004 was my fourth season working at Stevens Pass. Rather than
drive the seventy miles from my home to the pass, I would board the pass crew bus at
the Mountain View Chevron in Sultan . George, a new Stevens Pass employee, also rode
the crew bus along with forty or so other passengers picked up at various stops between
Sultan and Skykomish.
George was a thin little man who stood no higher than my shoulder (I’m 5’1”)
and it seemed that all of his clothes were four sizes too big. Because he had no teeth on
his upper jaw, and thinning hair, George looked older than his years. What hair he did
have was matted and had lost its luster, making it appear as though it hadn’t been washed
in months.
The strongest cologne could not have masked the odor that assaulted one’s nose
each time he came near. George was a chain smoker, and he carried not only the putrid
stench of the cigarette he’d just rolled and smoked, but also that of a body trying
desperately to rid itself of toxins.
Worst of all George had a continual cough. He never used a handkerchief or
tissue, and when sputum collected in his mouth, he’d get out of his seat and stagger
forward, jostling to and fro as the bus bounced along. Upon reaching the front, he would
spit, hack, and spit some more into the waste receptacle. Wiping his mouth with his
hand, he’d return to his seat from which the process would be repeated three or four
more times during the hour long ride.
Working at Stevens Pass was like being back in high school. There was the little
romances and breakups, quarrels between workers and bosses, and constant gossip. The
evening ride on the crew bus was like being in a news room. Nearly every one of the
fifty seven departments at the pass were represented by bus passengers. Each day there
was sharing of how the day went, difficult customers encountered, and juicy information
heard. It was there I learned something about George I hadn’t known before.
Filtering through the every other word expletives of the lift operators who sat at
the rear of the bus and the aches and pains of the menopausal women who sat at the
front, a bit of conversation concerning George caught my attention one evening. While
several employees showed an open distaste for George, just as many if not more, seemed
to like him. Two such young men were discussing how earlier in the day, George
had passed out and been taken by ambulance to the hospital. Not wanting to eavesdrop
but also curious, I continued to listen enough to hear a most startling revelation. George
was ill, so ill, that he was fighting a battle he could not win. George had liver cancer!
Shocking news like that causes a person to do some self- examination in how they
related to the sick person. I was horrified, and completely ashamed of the opinion I had
held, that George was someone to be avoided and of little more value than the trash in the
wastebasket he used as his spittoon. I, who called myself a Christian, had foolishly and
completely been blinded to the truth. As Paul the Apostle writes in 1Corinthians
13:12and 13, I was seeing, “thru a glass darkly” a dim reflection of who and what George
really was. I realized that like Dr. Seuss’s Grinch, my heart had been “two sizes too
small.” Here was an individual who needed compassion, strength, and encouragement,
and I decided to make closer observation and get truly acquainted with him.

I had thought George to be pushy and rude as it seemed he generally had to be the first one off the bus in the morning. Actually, he was a dedicated worker excited to be about the business of the day. I would see him taking the trash out and trucking boxes of food from the basement coolers to the kitchens on the second floor of the Cascade Kitchen Restaurant as if it were the most important job on the mountain.
Inside the grumpy man I had seen was a lively sense of humor. While riding the
elevator one morning, George told of an experience hitch hiking to the bus stop on
Christmas morning. His facial expressions and coarse retort he wished to have given
those who passed him by sent those present into peals of laughter.
George also had a child-like faith. One evening on the trip down the mountain,
George was seated across from me on the overcrowded cutaway bus. His conversation
centered on his recent doctor visit and the pain he’d endured that day. He brightened
at my promise to pray for him, and flooded me with questions about church, Jesus and
remarked that our conversation was like a mini church service.
Spring soon arrived and with it the lay off of part-time workers, including George.
Since I no longer saw George on the bus, I would drop by his tiny apartment on my way
home. George was a very gracious host, offering me a drink of water and kindly
putting his cigarette out and opening the door for fresh air. On one such occasion, I
presented him with an Easter card. One would have thought it contained a hundred dollar
bill he was so thrilled to receive it, so much so that he planted a kiss on my cheek.
I gave George a ride to the company end-of-season, party the Monday following
Easter weekend. Everyone was glad to see him again, and he was delighted to win a door
prize, a pair of ski goggles and six pack of Red Bull. Close to the end of activities,
George let me know that he was ready to leave. I tarried a bit too long watching a pond
skimming contest, and when I arrived at the car found George, independent as ever, on
the opposite side of the highway preparing to hitchhike down the mountain. That
was the last time I saw George. He went to his rest early in June and it was my privilege
to sing at his funeral that was attended by only two guests, his brother and a nurse who’d
been involved with his care at the Valley General Hospital emergency room.
Pastor Mike Maldonado who had officiated at George’s funeral and was also my
pastor, described in a sermon the following Sabbath, an individual who died alone, an
ordinary person without any great achievements or impact on society. I knew instantly
he was referring to George.
With tears streaming down my face, I muttered, “Oh yes he did!” George had an
impact on my life and changed forever how I look at and value another person. Some-
one who I had once thought repulsive, I now remembered as kind, appreciative, funny,
and independent, having the same fears, dreams, joys and sorrows as anyone else.
Because I dared to reach beyond myself and get to know George, finally realizing
that the outward packaging of a person is not who they really are, I now am reminded
that a first impression is just that, but a last impression is what is truly important.