A letter to the man on the LIRR
Last week I saw you in your isle seat on the Long Island Railroad. I don’t know if you think anyone actually sees you, or if you even care. I won’t pretend like I know where you came from or where you’re going. I don’t know what’s happening in your life, and I didn’t ask. My heart has continually broken for you since then though.
I could see the hollowness and the desperation and the numbness all at once. All of those little glass bottles in the front pocket of your Patagonia vest – empty. I’m usually not very empathetic, but for that train ride I was. I thought for the ride, do I say something? It not my job to fix you, I know. I wouldn’t have to authority to anyway. I became speechless, sad for you. I got off that train, on an airplane. I was still thinking about you though.
I thought about how I actually bought the wrong ticket, and that they should’ve told me to leave and get another one. The guy sitting beside me said “that NEVER happens, they always see it” in disbelief, but this one time they didn’t catch it. I think the Lord wanted to give me a perspective, he wanted to teach me something and generously give me his heart for you.
I think He wanted to teach me through you, that is heart is for people, every people. That He is present in the emptiness and the desperation and the numbness and the running away. It’s still hard and it’s still a pit and its still not a great place to be, dangerous even. Thank God he isn’t safe though – that the pursuit isn’t dependent on our addiction and our self-preservation and our fear. I don’t know if you believe God, if you hate Him or if you know Him and those bottles are just your Achilles heel. I don’t know if you feel shame in your life, but I know shame isn’t foreign to any of us. It isn’t exclusive to you. You aren’t alone even if it feels like it all the time. I’ve felt it too and it’s a scary place to be. I’m familiar with running from healing and looking to be filled with things that just crack me open more and more. We’re not all that different you know; at the end of the day we have the same need.
I know that need is redemption and reconciliation with Jesus. Everyone’s on their own journey, and ours got to overlap for forty-five minutes. I’m thankful for it. I’ve been praying for you every day. I haven’t forgotten you. I don’t see you as a problem to be fixed, ignored, or frustrated with. I see you as a human being, just as deserving of grace as me. I’m praying your eyes are opened to grace, to the pursuit of your heart. Don’t let people tell you who you are or who you aren’t. Don’t let them tell you that freedom isn’t real. I don’t know if you’ve ever been told this, but someone died for you. He came for the lost, for you and for me. There’s this book, it talks about Him. There’s a place in it He’s getting roasted by these religious officials about eating at this big table with people like you and me. He says that’s why he came – not to hang out with the righteous but the ragamuffins like us. I’m not like I used to be though, Jesus started to fill me up and those cracks are disappearing. I don’t have it all figured out; I didn’t even have words for this until now.
I don’t know anything about you, I won’t pretend I do. I just know the answer to all your questions is found in the One that’s with you in the mess.
Anyway, thanks for teaching me so much, can’t wait to hear your story of redemption someday.
Alexis
