It was a Thursday afternoon around 4pm and the subway was packed. People everywhere pushing against one another, just trying to cram another body into a small space. Eastern Europeans are not known for being the friendliest people; you rarely see them smile. So add over 50 young, loud Americans, with giant bags strapped to the front and back of their bodies, onto the already full subway, and these people get really unhappy.
With all my earthly possessions attached to me through various REI packs, I was trying to make myself as unobtrusive as possible. I shuffled my way far into the subway car, all the while trying to be aware of my increasingly larger circumference. At any moment we would be lurching forward throwing those unaware off balance. For fear of crushing any of these Ukrainians, I began searching for a hand hold. The bar above my head was the only choice. My first reach ended in failure.The combination of my small stature and pack straps mashing my arms down was not good. I mustered all my strength, stood on my tiptoes, and literally threw my left arm up. My fingertips grasped the bar just in time.
Minutes later the subway came to a halt. I dropped my arm in relief, allowing the blood to come back to my fingertips and the burning muscles of my shoulders to relax. One stop down, four to go. As the last of the new passengers squeezed their way on, I refocused on the bar above my head. There must have been something close to despair on my face because when I reached up the woman beside me reached her hand with mine. At first I thought she was trying to help me grab the bar, but instead she pulled my arm down. Laying my forearm on top of hers, she held my hand firmly and kept me steady. There was no smile, just a head nod and a few words in a language I didn’t understand.
At first I wasn’t sure what to do. Was I annoying or inconveniencing her? No, I wasn’t. She offered her hand in order to help me. As I stood looking at our reflection in the window, I began to pray for her, thanking God for putting this woman in my life, an Eastern European angel on the subway. My gaze drifted over her reflected face and I noticed her eyes were closed. Could she be praying as well? “God, is this woman also your child? Is she speaking to you too right now lifting me up in prayer?” I smiled at the thought. God didn’t give me specific confirmation of this, but I chose to believe it was true.
A couple of stops later she had to get off. Squeezing my hand, she looked into my eyes and said, “Sorry. Bye.” Her expression communicated more than her few words of English could. In this land of little joy and almost no hope, there are those who are still willing to offer a helping hand to a total stranger. The history of Communism and oppression is evident on the city streets and in the people’s faces, but these cultures are trying to break through. While hard work and a desire for financial success are deeply ingrained, true hope, joy, and love are missing.
This angel on the subway showed me what is possible here. Even though no one may smile at you on the streets, keep smiling at them. Even though people may not be polite to you because you are American, be polite to them. Even though they may disregard your message because no god can love like that, keep spreading the love of Christ wherever you go. Allow God to hold you up in His love and joy as you go to the nations just as this woman held me up on the subway, and steady on.
