The Bus Stop

I have always enjoyed watching people: facial expressions, the way they walk, dress... trying to guess what it is that has made them 'just so'.

But after a few months of university, it can get overwhelming to observe the masses. I began to tune it out. Stand and blank out... just think about my own needs, wants - stuff.

Several years ago I stood waiting for the city bus on College Drive and Cumberland after my classes were done for the day. I think it was before I started nursing - and I'm not even sure if I knew Kurt yet. It was what felt like centuries before my own grief and heartbreak shaped me as a woman and a christian.

As I stood there in my self-induced trance, a car pulled up in front of me and stopped at the stoplight.

It was a sports car: a black Eagle Talon, I think.
A beautiful young Asian woman was in the drivers seat, and she was crying.

Weeping, actually. She sat there and looked at the stoplight while wiping her eyes over and over as tears ran down her face. She didn't look left or right: and not because of self-consciousness, I could tell. She was completely caught up in her grief.

All sorts of questions flashed though my mind.
"Did she break up with her boyfriend?"
"She came from the direction of the hospital: has someone she loves been hurt or died?"
My heart began to hurt as I watched the tears continue to roll down her cheeks, and her inaudible gasps for breath.

I stood there and stared at her, actually hoping she would look to her right and see me. I wanted to somehow let her know that she wasn't alone - that someone - a total stranger! - had noticed her tears and was concerned for her. I wanted to knock on her window and ask if there was anything I could do for her. The logistics, however, of a busy street and a light that would soon change colour made that impossible.

So instead, I began to pray for her. To ask God - who knew who she was and what she was feeling - to comfort her. As the light turned green, and she pulled away, I continued to talk to God about her. The whole way home on the bus, the memory of her tears stayed with me.

Strangely enough, years later, I was the one in the car weeping. Going to the hospital to deliver my stillborn daughter I cried silently. I was not conscious of anyone or anything else - only my broken heart. But as Kurt drove past the bus stop at College and Cumberland, I remembered her and her tears. It gave me comfort to know the same God I talked to her about was watching me - maybe even causing a stranger on the street to pray for me as they noticed my grief.

I still think of her to this day. Even last night, I found my mind wandered to that afternoon: wondering who she was and what she was dealing with. I prayed for her again, as I have continued to over the years.

As a christian, it is pretty easy to simply reflect on myself. My goals, my struggles and weakness and downfalls. But I am reminded that the ultimate purpose of being a child of God while I am here is to reach out to others - and tell them about the One who held me when no one else could if they want to listen. To be with them in their weakness - and to cry with them. Especially now, after my heart has been opened to grief, I can ache in a way that I was never capable of before. But first, I have to look. In my deepest heart-of-hearts I want to be like Jesus - who looked at the crowds of broken people and loved them, gave himself to serve them and cried for them.

So that's my thought for the day. Strange and somewhat random, right? (chuckle)
But maybe you're in a place where you are just kind of existing in your own world.
Maybe you need a nudge - like I did years ago and still often do - to step out, look around and remember why you're here.

But just maybe. :)