Every Christmas I watch the film “Polar Express”. The Robert Zemeckis live performance animation film portrays four children who board a mysterious train bound for the North Pole on Christmas Eve. Whether their adventure is a dream, or reality, is left to the imagination of the audience. Complete with a rail riding ghost and an officious ticket punching conductor portrayed by Tom Hanks, the Polar Express rockets recklessly over the frozen tundra of the northern polar cap for a midnight destination with Santa, where one of the children will receive the “first” gift of Christmas given by the Man himself. For each child aboard the Polar Express there is a precious lesson to be learned as the train races through the dense forests and cascades down steep treacherous mountain passes narrowly averting disaster on a dark ice flow. However, for one boy it will test his cherished beliefs for a lifetime.
This film serves as a reminder to me of how the value of my early beliefs, tested by the fragile innocence of childhood, were easily swept away as I intersected the unexpected crossroads of my life. Growing up in Southern California in the 1950’s was a rare and gifted opportunity for any young person. As I discovered later the warm and sunny beaches that I took for granted, and enjoyed every day of every summer, were merely wistful thoughts in the minds of many less fortunate.
It was a time of rock ‘n roll, rhythm and blues, cruising the main drag and Friday night parties. While we drank beer, and some smoked cigarettes, it was a peaceful uncomplicated time in which the surface of the moon was still to be discovered, and the terms meth, speed, political correctness, woke and white supremacy had no commonly understood meaning.
Each year as a child I waited anxiously for Santa Claus to ring our door bell on Christmas Eve. It was the most exciting evening of the year, and Santa’s arrival was a preview of all that lay ahead on Christmas day, and beyond. Santa never had to ring our bell twice. I knew all the questions, and was prepared with all the right answers. After reassuring him that I had been good during the year, Santa would shake the small glistering silver bell that hung from the waist band of his ill fitting costume, and then give me my first gift of Christmas.
He would then smile and wave goodbye as he trundled down the sidewalk and on to the house next door. It never seemed important to me that Santa was often short and a little skinny. Or, that he wasn’t whisked away on a majestic sleigh powered by eight reindeer. Although there was always a certain familiarity, I was in no hurry to find out that Santa Claus was really a neighbor, and that the first gift of Christmas was provided by my parents. I sensed that to acknowledge any recognition would mean the loss of a special feeling that could never be regained. So, I was simply content to BELIEVE.
At the end of the film the boy’s promise to “believe” is rewarded by Santa with the first gift of Christmas. When asked what he wished for, the boy’s whispered his reply into Santa’a attentive ear. While the exchange is not heard by the audience Santa hands the boy a bell from his sleigh. The film closes with the ageing narrative of the boy as he laments that in his youth all his friends could hear the hopeful ring of their imaginary bell. But, regrettably, as they grew older the bell slowly fell silent to all except those who truly BELIEVED.
As the years passed the bell of Christmas fell silent for me as well. The years of my life moved as fast and recklessly as the Polar Express. The home that Santa visited was given up to the north runway of the Los Angeles International Airport, and all that I cherished was also paved over by the path of progress leading to microwave ovens, computers smart phones and Zoom. The bells of Christmas were replaced by bells with a new sound. The ring of insecurity, discontent and failure.
The end came on a frigid, wet and windswept day in March. I was working in my office on a direct mail project that I had used before without any particular success. I had no reason to think the outcome would be any different on that occasion. But, I just needed to do something. As I looked out the window life seemed as dark as the day. The pounding rain felt like a clear sign that I was losing all sentient contact with my future.
I thought I was beginning the final decent into a state of depression from which I might not recover, and believed that I was without the strength to push off the bottom. It was clear to me at that moment that I had spent my entire adult life letting all the wrong people, and all the wrong things “ring my bell”. In my youth I was able to appreciate the beauty and perfection of the world I lived in. For me it could only be the work of some creative force. Today it is referred to euphemistically as “intelligent design”. I always thought it was GOD. Even then, I was never in doubt.
As my life unraveled over the years, I never blamed God. I knew I was the one to blame. But I did try occasionally to make some deals with God for which, fortunately, there was never a reply. Over the years I realized that God’s greatest gifts were truly unanswered prayers. As I looked out the window all I could think of was “God please take my hand and hold on tight because man I’m sinking fast”. I knew there wouldn’t be a deal. No special dispensation. Besides, I had neither the physical nor emotional strength to argue my case. I also knew that I would have a better chance of finding snow in the Sahara than catching God in a bargaining mood.
I had always thought of myself as strong, confident and resilient. I was the quarterback of my life, and I was never afraid to call the play and carry the ball. I took a certain pride in living on the fringe, always certain that I would know when I had reached the edge. But, I was finally out of running room. It was time to hand off the ball, and I just asked that He give me the strength to continue, and I promised to do the best I could. I finished by preparing the mail, then left for home.
Sometime during the following week as I entered the office my phone rang. The ring sounded as always, but little did I know as I reached for the receiver that my life was about to change forever. It would be more than a year before that call would complete the most important business transaction of my career. As the weeks and months passed success was on the way, but I never asked for more. Just a guiding hand to lead the way. And, as winter soon gave way to spring my phone began to ring with more new and exciting opportunities.
Kairos is the recognition of a life altering event, or an unmistakable sentinel moment in time. For me, however, it seemed like nothing more than a phone ringing. With time I began to acquire a new sense of direction. A new sense of purpose. I began to expect more of myself and less of others, moving closer to friends and family while building a new bond of affection and trust with the one I loved the most. Like the warmth of the early morning sun that radiates softly over a certain promise offered by every early morning sky, I slowly realized that what I really wanted had been there all the time. As an experienced pilot I should have known that I needed only to turn to the right heading.
I still have my bell rung by the wrong things and I know that, for me, expressing my faith will always be a work in progress. It’s been many years since the phone rang that day. While the ring seemed ordinary then, I am certain that it was intended to assure me that the “Bell” rings for all who listen. I continue to ask for nothing more than to be the best I can. Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes I fail. But each day the Bell rings louder and with greater clarity for me, as I hope that it does for you.
Châz