The Great Exchange

I had walked past that shop many times. Flickers of curiosity had been quenched by apathy, worry or distraction. Today for some reason, I stopped. The sign outside stated in clear and daring letters “The Great Exchange”. My eyes travelled down to a notice underneath. “I want all your junk.  Bring the worst that you have. In exchange, I will give you my life”.

It was such a strange concept. I had heard of the man who ran the shop inside. Some people said he was an imposter. Some people said he was crazy. Some people said he was a myth; that he didn’t really exist. They said he had holes in his hands, and scars on his body. Whoever he was, he was surely an enigma. Maybe he was dangerous? Why did he want this junk anyway? And could it really be true? I mean, it sounded just too good to be true… There must be some sort of catch. If there was anything I had learned in life, it’s that you can’t trust anyone these days.

Walking away I dismissed this mystery pawn man from my mind. But in the days that followed I just couldn’t get that sign out of my mind. I felt restless, distracted. The burdens I daily carried seemed to become inordinately unbearable. I couldn’t deny them and fill my mind with other thoughts - as was my usual practice. Somehow they weighed heavier upon me and seemed even uglier and more repulsive. Waking up I wondered, what really was the point to my life? What was this all about? Maybe I should just go in there and call his bluff. Maybe I should see what all the fuss was about.

I started looking for my worst junk. Finding a suitable box in my storeroom, I filled it. Fear. Shame. Rejection. There, I said to myself. It can’t get much worse. And I started on my way to that old pawn shop.

Hesitating a moment at the door, the heavy contents of my box woke me from my stupor and I pushed it open. I entered to the ringing of a bell. To my surprise, I found myself in a small room, filled from floor to ceiling with stacks of boxes. There was a queue of people inside. I joined the end of the queue. There were also other people present in the shop who did not appear to be in the queue. They were littered around, some sitting on the floor, some standing. I noticed that everyone there, like myself, was carrying boxes. The ones on the floor were clutching tightly to their boxes. A boy to my right was rocking back and forth. Glancing over I managed to glimpse the label on his box. “Bitterness” it read. He was clutching the box so tightly his knuckles were white. It didn’t look like he wanted to let go. Why was he here, I wondered?

Startled, I noticed a girl in the shadows in the corner to my left. Suspiciously she peered out of the gloom and looked ready to swipe at anyone who came near her. “Shame” was the label on her box.

My focus returned to the queue ahead of me. The man at the front of the line cried “No!” and stumbled out of the shop. He was lugging a massive suitcase behind him. As he heaved it over the door threshold I saw the label “unforgiveness” on it. To my surprise the line was moving quickly. Suddenly, I was at the front of the queue. And there he was. The man with the holes in his hands was kneeling in front of me.

He was not like anyone I had ever seen before. There was a calm immovability about him. I felt certain in that moment that nothing ever panicked, frightened or surprised him. His eyes… they were so deep. They seemed to see straight through me, and, they felt… so old. Like they had seen everything that ever was. It was unnerving, looking into those eyes. Yet strangely, I felt like this man saw me in a way no one ever had before.

And then he spoke, “Have you come with your junk?”

“Yes” I responded suspiciously, holding tighter onto my box. Suddenly, a panic rose in my throat. I couldn’t give him my box. There was no point in giving it away. And giving it to him, wasn’t I loosing my identity? Who would I be without my junk? It was burdensome, ugly and heavy, but yet, it was all I knew. It was me. And how could I trust this man? What could he possibly give me in exchange for this?

“I want to take your junk” he said. His eyes glanced at the label of my box. In exchange for your fear, shame and rejection, I will give you purpose. I will give you hope. And ultimately, fullness of life.”

That’s too good to be true, I thought to myself. And anyway – I can’t afford it. My junk didn’t merit that and I didn’t have money.

As if reading my mind, he said, “It’s a free exchange. All that I’m asking you, is that you give me your box in totality. I want all of it. The items I’m giving you wont be effective if you hold on to your junk.”

I looked hungrily at the items in the shelves behind him. “Joy”, “peace”, “identity”, “mission,” “acceptance”, were some of the labels…

“That’s very kind of you sir…” I stuttered, “but…but I can’t afford it. Let me go and earn a few more savings. I’ll come back with the money, and maybe you can give me some ‘hope’. Hopefully in a few years I’ll have earned the ‘purpose’ and maybe even eventually ‘fullness of life’”.

“There’s something else I should have mentioned” the man seemed unsurprised and unmoved by my idea. “You can’t buy these items. Even if you had all the money in the world, you could never afford them”.

“But how can you afford them…” the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

He was holding out his hand to me. I looked. There was indeed a hole in his hand. In fact, I noticed there were scars on his arm. This calm, immovable man, had suffered great pain. I realised then that he wanted me to give him my box. He actually wanted it. He wanted my junk.

Almost outside of myself I found myself unwrapping my grip from my box and slowly stepping towards his outstretched arm. He was looking in my eyes, unwavering, steadfast.

“I paid for it with my life”.

At that moment, I started sobbing. It was just too good to be true. Loosing my burdens to this unnervingly calm and kind yet resolute man was already such a relief. I felt a sudden lightness that I had never experienced before. Like I had been carrying a rucksack of heavy rocks and someone had just loosened the straps. And suddenly it was gone. My box had disappeared. I didn’t know where it went and suddenly I didn’t care. Something was bubbling up inside me and tickling my throat. I realised it was laughter.

The man with holes in his hands put his hands on my head. “My items don’t come in a box” he said. “You wont have to carry them. They will live inside you. This is just the beginning. They are going to grow.” Then I realised that he was smiling. It was the most wonderful smile I’d ever seen. It was like a light came on in that shop.

I don’t quite remember leaving that shop. It was like I was floating on air. But in the days that followed and as I reflected on my experience, I remembered something else he had said to me. He wanted me to tell other people about my experience at the shop. He wanted me to tell other people about who he was. That the great exchange was real. I guess he knew there were a lot of myths and rumours about him that weren’t true. And he had tasked me with dispelling the lies! I suppose that people would believe me because I could tell them about something I had experienced myself. I could explain to them what I had given up, and show them what I had gained.

One thing is sure; I’ll never forget my first time in the shop. Since then I have realised that there was other junk I was harbouring that I could get rid of. That he was eager to take. I now know there is an endless supply of good things that were so much better than the junk I have been carrying.

I’ve met a few other people who have been through the Great Exchange. They are all hopelessly devoted the man with the holes in his hand. I’m still working on convincing others to join me. I never saw myself in the ‘advertising’ field, but I guess that was part of the “purpose” package that the man with the holes in his hands gave me… I think the saddest thing about visiting the shop is seeing the people who refuse to hand over their junk. The man with the holes in his hands never seems to loose patience with them.

Every time I think back to my first time in that shop - I can only be grateful. And make it my life’s goal to tell other people the good news.