“For the train people.”
The road crossing altered the hum of the railroad ties beneath us. I regarded up at the change in rhythm and seen graffiti on the aspect of a constructing. What did the artist imply, “For the train people”? I questioned if it have been painted in the darkish of night time or in early morning. Did it seem the week earlier than, however I solely seen it immediately?
I felt an odd connection to the stranger who left that notice for me and the different passengers. Perhaps God was making an attempt to inform me one thing. Today I used to be spending my morning journey making an attempt to hope.
A commuter practice is a good equalizer. Social hierarchy is irrelevant when seats fill on a primary-come, first-served foundation. A homeless man safely napped; a scholar centered on an project; a businessman reviewed his laptop computer as he prepped for a excessive-powered assembly in the massive metropolis; and a toddler bounced with glee merely searching the window subsequent to her nanny. We have been plucked from one metropolis and plopped in one other 45 minutes away.
For a second, we have been collectively, however have been we a group? Did we discover, care about, and even pray for one another?
On the platform ready for our morning practice, which one in every of us first smiled at the different and mentioned hiya? After a 12 months of exchanging a number of sentences, Claire and I turned informal pals. We knew lots about one another. Once our practice arrived, we honored the sacred silence and sat in separate vehicles.
On the approach house, I spent weeks nodding to a person and smiling earlier than I lastly discovered the purpose he regarded so unhappy every night. He visited his spouse of 52 years in acute care and hated leaving her. From then on, he smiled at any time when I approached, and we talked of many issues, together with his childhood in Holland. Then sooner or later, he wasn’t there, and I by no means noticed him once more. Our tracks now not crossed. Had his spouse died? It harm to lose this informal good friend. I used to be tempted to cease bothering to get to know folks.
“For the train people.”
What if Christ wrote that message on the wall, to remind me to see and take care of others regardless of differing politics, well being, occupations, aspirations, worries, properties, and the structure of our lives?
So many individuals journey on totally different tracks. So many mysteries about the lives of us passengers! And some nameless graffiti artist mattered to me, impressed me, and can by no means understand it occurred.
It was the hand of God, who can use something to get seen, and does.