People in cars
In the place where folks meet and greet; where conversations ebb and flow. Where machines whir and my favorite scent ribbons through the air, I see them.
From my spot by the plate-glass window, I am watching. The world on the other side’s awake. Across the street, I see the work vans. A construction truck. A heating and cooling specialist. A computer tech’s vehicle, all parked in an orderly line. All of this, and the constant flow of traffic.
At the stoplight, a man in a car lifts a cigarette to his lips. There’s a car seat in the back on the left. A young man pinches the bridge of his nose. I wonder if he’s tired and needs coffee.
A thirty-something fellow talks on his phone, perhaps checking in with the office? Or his wife.
There comes a young woman, then two folks in a car. Light’s green, a left turn, and they’re gone. Out of sight.
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I sip morning coffee, that nectar of the gods. Salted caramel, french press, with some cream. The flavor is strong on my tongue. The scone’s sweet.
Glancing out, I see two women with a child in between. They reach out to grasp her small hands. They are smiling.
This morning, I’m preparing a speech, so I’m writing. Notebook, pen and ink, thoughts unfurling in cursive. Longhand; that’s how I write. And I’m thinking, thinking, thinking. Meanwhile, outside, that endless stream of humanity’s still passing.
“They’re hurtling toward eternity.” That’s what comes, and I can’t stop watching the parade. That parade of cars, trucks, and vans. Parade of people.
Surely, in the torrent sweeping by, someone is dealing with chronic pain. With cancer. With an unsettling, untimely diagnosis.
I wonder which one is facing divorce or who might have buried a loved one? Which one has a prodigal or a difficult child, and exhaustion’s their constant companion? Ah, but life can be hard.
A man or a woman is facing temptation, and it’s harder and harder to say no. To stop the slide. Watching them isolated behind steering wheels, I wonder who’s fighting that battle. Private thoughts. Private struggles. Private pain.
Someone who’s passing (that’s what I’m thinking) has been disappointed, betrayed. Maybe the man in that truck is about to be fired, and this morning he can’t see it coming. The sun’s shining, after all, and it’s just another ordinary day.
People in cars, dashing by. And eternity, The Forever, is coming.
Walking down the sidewalk now in the bright September sun, I can’t stop thinking about the people. All of us–every one–are going to die. And all of us are carrying some pain. Fallen world, what this is, and I remember…
That I can make a difference down here even as I, too, head for Heaven. I can see, really see those who’re passing me by. I can see them and hold out my hand, offering grace.
Maybe if I am kinder than I need to be. More patient than I want to be. Silent more often than I’d usually be. Quicker to speak a bright word than I used to be.
If I’m slower to complain over a slight, real or imagined. If “thank you” springs freely from my lips. If my face carries that *Light, and my heart carries *Love, then maybe, just maybe…
Maybe Heaven will be fuller than it might have been if God had never made me. Or made you.
People in cars, passing by. And Heaven’s waiting.
*Light and *Love – Lord Christ, Emmanuel Who is with us