Cab Driver from Nazareth

I had gone to New York City on business, leaving briefly, my sleepy existence on the outskirts of Raleigh, North Carolina. I didn't want to go. My wife was on the verge of delivering our first child and I'd rather be by her side, than talking business 1,000 miles away.

As business concluded, I stood in the lobby of the office building, suitcase in hand, watching it pour down rain, wondering how I would ever make it to the airport on-time.

I ventured out to the curb, hoping, no praying; I’d be recognized as not being from these parts. I don’t know why, but I hoped someone would have pity on me and stop. In my mind I prayed, Lord please, I’ve always been your servant, do me this one favor. I’m having a baby. Get me home.

Then with a bit of New York rubbing off on me, right before an empty cab pulled up, I remember thinking, cut me some slack dear Lord, please, help me out here.

A long-haired, bearded, and disheveled looking young fellow, driving the typical dented and beat-up, yellow, New York City cab pulled up. The door popped open, and I jumped in.

“JFK Airport?” I requested.

“I figured so, seeing your suitcase. “He said softly, calmly, amazingly so for a man driving a cab in rush-hour traffic.

“Good guess.” I replied as the man flicked the meter and moved out into traffic. I was feeling a bit stressed, but the man’s demeanor had a calming effect.

“Think we’ll make it?” I asked, believing it’s a toss-up, and completely out of our hands.

The driver looked at me in his rearview window. His eyes were bright. I could sense something; he knew something. Strangely, I got the feeling there wasn't much he didn't know.

“I’ll see what I can do. Have faith.” He said, but I’m not sure if he said it or if I just saw it in his eyes.

I tried to pass the time. Looking around the cab, I saw Pittsburgh Penguin and Steelers emblems stuck to the tattered upholstery. “Where you from?” I asked.

“Nazareth” he replied.

"Nazareth?", I repeated.

“Yes, it’s a small town outside of Bethlehem.” He added.

“Ah, a mining town.” I threw into the conversation, trying to think of something to say about the Pittsburgh Steelers.

“There are mountains.” He replied, and then asked, “What will you name your son?”

I started to say we don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, but stopped. “How do you know I’m having a baby?”

“Just a guess. You seemed concerned.” He replied.

We drove to the Eastside of Manhattan where a virtual wall of traffic blocked our escape across the East River, to the Borough of Queens, JFK Airport, and my scheduled flight home.

“Oh, Lord help us.” I cried out as I surveyed the sea of humanity spread out in front of us; honking, shouting, and fighting for every small movement forward.

“He will.” The driver said and then smiled while looking at me in the rearview mirror, “I know a shortcut.”

I barely heard his words as the cab whirled about, sped down an empty side street and drove north along the East River. I don’t exactly remember where, I don’t know New York that well, but somewhere just past a large bridge, we took a hard right and headed across the river.

Water splashed up from both sides of the car as the lights of Manhattan appeared behind us. I was amused and laughed out loud when he turned on his windshield wipers.

“There are old rail tracks across the river. The tracks have been removed leaving only the rail bed. You can drive across, if conditions are right.” The driver stated with a bit of a grin on his face.

I had reason to doubt this as he slowed to let a tugboat and barge pass in front of us. We were soon on the other side, driving along the docks. We found the entrance to the highway, and sped past a sign welcoming us to the Borough of Queens.

I felt amazingly relaxed as we bolted down the expressway. Perhaps it was the signs telling us JFK was only a few exits ahead, or perhaps it was how the traffic seemed to part, allowing us our own lane to speed along. On both sides of the taxi, I glanced out at the vehicles, stopped or slowing, they paid us no mind as we hustled by.

We finally turned into the airport. I glanced at my watch. Something wasn’t right. My business meeting had run late and I remember, distinctly, riding the elevator to the lobby, and checking the time, 6:15pm.

My watch must have stopped, I thought. “Driver, what time do you have?”

“6:15,” he replied.

“We made good time,” I suggested.

“Yes, nothing is impossible, if you believe,” he said solemnly.

He pulled up to the curb in front of my airline, without being informed which airline. I got out of the cab, he didn’t. I walked to the driver side and watched his window come down. I was ready to give him everything in my wallet. I didn’t care what the meter read.

Before I could say anything, he spoke. “You have a son to be born soon. Keep the money; use it to raise him. Don’t just teach him to read and write, or what he needs to hold a job. Teach him to be compassionate. Teach him humility and honesty, generosity and kindness. Teach him to be responsible for the world in which we live. Above all, show him there is no greater privilege, than to love and be loved. This you cannot teach, this you must show.

I was dumbfounded and didn’t know what to say. I took a step back and acknowledged, “I will.” As I did I looked him in the eyes and felt an amazing feeling of elation. It was mystical. I think I experienced true love, but on a much higher plane.

I watched as he slowly rolled up his window. I quickly blurted out. “What’s your name?”

He smiled, and the last thing he said before driving off was, “Just remember me as the cab driver from Nazareth.”