I didn’t realize this was happening to me.

This morning I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I was cleaning up a mess in the bathroom – before my first cup of coffee, I might add. A broken toilet tank lid.  A jacket stuffed inside the tank. 

But it was what I saw in the mirror that bothered me most.

 I saw the face of an angry old man.

 I immediately thought of Dr. Clevinger, my College Bible professor. (I was a pastor in a former life, but that’s a story for another day.)

I would walk into Clevinger’s 8:00AM class and there he sat, hunched over, arms folded on his desk, with his sagging, narrow-eyed face of chronic disgust. He always managed to bring up some group in society, raising his voice, proclaiming them to be, “sinful idiots.”  For emphasis he’d raise his right hand and let it fall back heavily on his desk as he looked off into nowhere in a show of hopeless, righteous indignation.

I used to laugh at Dr. Clevinger.  I entertained friends with my imitation of Dr. Clevinger.  

But never, never, never did I ever imagine I would become Dr. Clevinger.  

But something bothered me even more than the reflection of my face in the mirror.  That face I was seeing reflected my heart.  If the face was the only problem, they have creams, treatments and even exercises that can help.

But what about my heart?  I knew this was not just a bad mood.

I AM becoming an angry old man. 

The signs are all there. 

Heavy sighs.  Rolling eyes.  Sarcasm.

Saying things like, “When we were kids we never…”

or “You know what’s wrong with people these days?” 

And occasionally, “If I were in charge.” (Now there’s a scary thought.)

I cleaned up the bathroom, and put the North Face jacket (that was never claimed) in the washing machine. Finally, I poured my first cup of coffee and sat.  

I reflected.

I thought to myself, “I don’t want to be Dr. Clevinger.”

That’s when I remembered.

The “Good day!” guy.

A two-second encounter that changed my life.

I was 20 years old, head down, deep in thought, out on a long run on a sunny, June morning.  About five miles into my run, near the university, I glanced up and saw a man walking toward me. I was about to give my polite runner’s nod. Some people give a little nod back. Others just look straight ahead like they never saw you.

But this guy looked at me and said, “Good day!”

That instant – I changed.  I came alive.

I was struggling at the time, contemplating changing my major…again. Wondering with every step what to do with my life. Lost in my own head. And then…”Good day!”

I sensed something about him.  His words seemed to come out of who he was.  Genuine.  Joyful. Real.

I started running with my head up.  The sun suddenly felt warm and reviving.

I said to myself, “I’m ready to live!  I can do this!”

I didn’t immediately figure out my major or what to do with my life.

But that didn’t matter so much anymore.

———-

As I sat with my coffee, I thought about our students and my co-workers who had been passing Dr. Clevinger in the hallways.  Were they laughing at me?  Did they entertain friends with their imitation of their angry old custodian?  I would have.

And I deserved it.

I finished my coffee, grabbed my broom and dustpan, and headed out into the hallway. In about two seconds, they were all about to meet the “Good Day!” guy.