“You please God by offering each other a helping hand."
~ Galatians 6:2
Twice each day for nine years, Sandy’s
subway excursion presented a migraine ‘opportunity.’ She
closed her eyes imagining the most peaceful place she could think of. In her ‘zone’ now, she started writing a card
to a friend; all to block out obnoxious music and the thunderous rampage of
steel wheels amplified off tunnel walls.
She wouldn’t be caught dead with a computer. Handwritten text just felt better . . . more
personal, more genuine.
Sandy hadn’t heard from Kim in a while. Her note was meant to show she cared and
would stay by her friend as long as it took; that she hadn't forgotten
her. Someone had been there for Sandy
once, now she wanted to be that someone for Kim too.
She’d almost finished her note, when a drunken man staggered
clumsily down the aisle toward her. He
reeked of cheap wine and stale cigarettes.
Swallowing hard, she prayed he’d find an empty seat before reaching
her. No luck! "Anyone s-sittin' there," he
slurred.
Sandy forced an honest, though wary reply, "No. It's
open."
He plopped down, jarring her with a shoulder before
settling. She flinched and put the
unfinished card away for now; her mellow mood interrupted.
"Naame’s Baaar-ney.
How'reya doin' this wonnerful mor'nin?" he asked, head bobbing
sideways.
Inhaling a cruel mixture of sweat and booze, she replied
kindly, "Just . . . fine, thanks." Sandy paused, grasping for some connection,
"And how are you?"
"Yaknow, you looks lots li' my ex-wife. Butcher perti-er."
Sandy blinked uneasily before responding, "Thank
you!" then forging ahead she asked, "Where is she now?"
He listed forward as the train decelerated. Squinting, he sucked air and enunciated two
words: "Sheee . . . left." After
which he mumbled, "Don' blame-er."
The train stopped.
"S'my stop," he announced, pulling himself up. As he turned, Sandy grabbed for his hand. "It was . . . nice talking to
you." Maybe it was his drunkenness,
but she felt him squeeze her hand.
Watching him stumble forward; she brought her hand to her face, smelling
the remnants of his touch.
She pulled out the unfinished card and quickly scratched out
Kim’s name, replacing the salutation with Barney’s instead. Sandy scribbled
“Call me anytime,” to complete the card, then signed it with her full name and
phone number.
“Barney! Wait!” she shouted. “This card’s for you.”
We all get so caught up in our own lives that we sometimes forget
why we’re here. Even strangers need
somebody who will listen to their secrets, share their loneliness, and connect
compassionately. The smallest,
unexpected gesture can make a difference.
Maybe Barney will call, maybe he’ll stop drinking . . . or maybe he
won’t. But when the alarm goes off for
volunteer angels – will you answer His call?
Dear Lord, put someone in my path today,
someone who needs a smile, some encouragement, maybe a hug. Then don’t let me blow the opportunity to answer their prayer by serving You. Amen
