A Very, Merry Easter!

I remember standing a few steps away from where all the excitement was and I was smiling. I couldn't get the most ridiculous and silly grin off my face. She - my wife - got most of the attention, and I was the 'coat rack'...and that was just fine with me. Guests would come into our room, shake our hands, (I mean...mostly her hands), maybe leave a gift, balloons, or flowers, and then leave. Smiles. Hugs. Tears. Pictures. Stories. And more stories. I've had the utmost pleasure of experiencing these moments twice...at the births of our three children. These brief encounters with joy and happiness usually went on for several days and then life would go back 'to normal'. Or not.

Actually, as I recall, life never returned to 'normal'. Unannounced visitors stopped coming by. The phone was quiet. Cards and flowers stopped arriving. It was a stark contrast to the rush of excitement that was so palpable just days before. As new parents, we were vacillating between joyful anticipation and terrifying fear. When the last of the visitors left, I recall looking at my wife, who then was gently rocking two babies in unison, and saying, "Now what are we supposed to do?" The lives of our son and daughter that were hidden 'skin-deep' for nine months were now an actuality, and our lives have never resembled anything close to that of pre-parenthood. Life again would change dramatically, although with more predictability, with the birth of our third child, a daughter, just three short years later.

With all these changes came a few constants - smiles and tears, laughing and crying, controlled chaos and serene calm. We learned quickly enough that the crying will stop - eventually. Temper tantrums will become hugs and cuddles - eventually. And the occasional "I wish you were more like..." will become "I'm so thankful you are..." - eventually. Parenthood is like a roller coaster with near vertical drops without any warning, and twists and turns so sudden and unexpected. But I know that in a few minutes I'll be getting off the ride, walking down the steps toward the exit, and I'll look back at the ride and say, "Let's do it again!" And, like a kid, I'll run back to be first in line.

This Christmas, I wondered if God smiled proudly when the shepherds and wise men visited Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Was he taking in all that he could? Was he listening to Mary recount the story of not being able to find a place to sleep? I know Joseph must have...but did God? We know the angels rejoiced, but what did God do? With my finite i.e. human understanding of God's majesty and omnipotence I wondered if God wept when Jesus was born? Did he cry knowing that his son would endure the slings and arrows of humankind? Did he mourn knowing that his only son would endure hell and agony for three days? Was he anxious to get the whole crucifixion and resurrection thing over and done with knowing that the day would be here before 'he knew it'? I don't know.

I know one thing...Jesus' heavenly father never said, "Lets do it again."

About thirty-three years later, somewhere on a hill outside of Jerusalem, the Father, through his Son, declared, "It is finished."

 

Merry Easter to all, and to all a good night!

 

Who was that mystery traveller on the Chicago 'L' train?

On August 25, 1989, after an evening out with friends to say farewell to a memorable summer, a young man stepped out of a car into a rainy, windy Chicago night. The streets were unusually quiet save for a dog's bark and a racing cab probably late for a fare. Walking down the stairs to the platform he looked up at the transit board to see when the next train to Evanston would arrive. Instantly, a wave of uncertainty spread from head to toe as a realization set in. Wrong train stop. Wrong station. Wrong side of town.

Racing back up to street level he frantically searched his pockets hoping to find a quarter to call a cab. Finally, in his last pocket to check he found a quarter - it was the only coin he had. There was a phone booth across the street - his only chance he thought. So, aided by the dim light from a sorry excuse for street lamp above he dialed a taxi's number. “Sorry sir”, came the dispatcher's voice from the other end. “You’ll need to give us a physical address. We can’t pick you up from a phone booth. Have a good night. Good-bye.”

No quarters. No change. No cell phone. Just a prepaid train stub. He'd been advised many times that this wasn’t the time of day to be navigating the streets alone. Boarding an unfamiliar train in the dead of night was his only way home. With a heavy reluctance he walked back to the station...down the stairs and waited.

A train’s lone headlight broke through the fog and rain. No choice but to get aboard. The doors slid open and after glancing around he saw that vacant stares were the only occupants of the late night train. Finding a seat he took stock of those around. The usual late night riders he surmised. Don’t stare. Don’t look out of place. Don’t panic.

“Division is our next stop. Division.” The conductor said. A few moments later: “Chicago is our next stop. Chicago”. Those stops sounded familiar but, there was a problem. He was on the ‘Blue’ line – and should have been on the ‘Red’.

Each time the doors opened, he jumped up to survey his surroundings since the windows were wet with condensation and the rain reflected thousands of tiny lights. Maybe he would recognize something significant. No. Just another wet platform. Just another person looking for a half smoked cigarette.

“Where’re you headed?” came a voice from a seat behind him. “I’ve noticed you getting up each time the doors open”, she said. An elderly lady riding the late night Chicago train was the last person he thought would - or even should - be commuting by herself.

“Yeah. Trying to get back north to Evanston. Got on the wrong train.” His voice quivered.

Looking at him with a strange sort of familiar tenderness, she replied, “That’s where I’m going. I just came from the airport and I’m going up to visit my daughter. You can travel with me…but could you help carry my suitcase?”

“Sure. No problem. Thank you.” Relief washed over him.

Not much was said for the duration of the ride. A transfer at Union Station was required to get on the ‘Red’ line to Howard. About thirty minutes later the voice on the speaker broke the quietness of the ride, “Dempster is the next stop. Dempster.” “That’s my stop”, she said. “Mine, too”, he replied.

The doors opened and they exited the train. Across the platform and down the stairs they went. He handed the lady her suitcase. She turned left and the man turned right. No sooner had they gone their separate ways when he turned to say ‘Thank you’ once again to the lady who accompanied him safely home.

But she was gone. Not a footstep. Not a breeze. Not a trace. Nothing.

I didn’t see her again.

Was it fate? Did mere circumstance cause our paths to meet? Or, was an angel of God riding the Chicago “L” train that late night? Whoever that person was that appeared so unexpectedly, and then disappeared so suddenly, I believe God was watching over me that night. We tend to think that God only acted and appeared to people in the Bible. But he’s as present and active now as he was then. God is here with us. He promised never to leave.