Faces of Humanity

It’s easy to get caught up in my own little world, writing about my own little disease, my own little vacation, my own little life…

But all around me are faces of people with lives of their own. They remind me not to become so self-absorbed; that my life isn’t nearly so bad, or maybe that it isn’t nearly so good, as someone else’s. And almost anyone is willing to talk to a listening, sympathetic ear.

I don’t know how people know I’m a good listener, but they instinctively seek me out --- and I’m talking about total strangers now, not just friends and acquaintances. People in Kroger ask if I know where the beans are. People in the parking lot ask me for directions. People in Kohl’s ask me about the weather.

Once my niece walked through Kroger with me and we must have talked to 3 or 4 strangers. I asked her if I had a sign on my forehead that said, “Talk to me.” She told me my problem is that I make eye contact and smile at people.

Is that really a problem? I like people. They remind me that there’s goodness in the world; sometimes they make me remember there’s evil in the world too. But always they make me mindful that my life and circumstances are not the worst or the best.

I’m sitting in our Amtrak sleeper berth right now, blogging offline until I can find a connection. We’re on our return trip after a lovely vacation. We departed Grand Junction, CO at 10:23 AM, about an hour ago. We’re due in to Chicago’s Union Station at 2:50 tomorrow afternoon, then destination Indianapolis around midnight tomorrow night.

In all of our wanderings over the last week or so, we’ve met lots of strangers with compelling stories. I know I’ll never see them again, and I wonder what will become of them.

I’m thinking especially of Phyllis...quite a forward older lady who asked if she could sit with us in the observation car on our westbound train. We were enjoying the intimacy of our shared anticipation of the next leg of our journey, and didn’t really want company. But Phyllis was alone and apparently needed companionship, so we said we didn’t mind if she sat with us. We wanted to enjoy conversation with each other, but Phyllis kept us occupied with chit-chat non-stop for about 2 hours, during the most scenic portion of our train ride. She was returning home to Glenwood Springs after attending her grandson’s 4th birthday party in Denver. She was a retired controller, and chatted about her daughter, water rights, the “world’s oldest visible stone,” a recent train accident, why you shouldn’t talk on your cell phone while charging it, and the flora and fauna of this part of the country (to name a few!). I told her it was our 25th anniversary, and she said, “That used to be part of my happily ever after too, until I got a divorce.” Though she didn’t go on, it was obvious that Pandora’s box of pain, shame, and disappointment had cracked it’s lid a little.

And then there was Adam, our shuttle driver from the hotel. He used to work in the oil fields, and only saw his family once every 2 or 3 months, so he quit and took this job for about one third of the pay. He said it was his first “tip job.” He didn’t do anything out of the way, but I got the feeling there was a rougher side to him that we were not seeing. He showed us where his family lived, and alluded to the fact that he might have had a drinking problem in the past. He would have told me anything else I wanted to know, but I didn’t ask.

We also met Ella May and her friend, both in their 80’s, who took lavish and frequent vacations together; Jan, a tour director who hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in at least 2 days because she was taking care of injuries and illness within her group; two unnamed guys in their 60’s, one of whom shared my banking profession and just retired June 1; Torrie, our server at Jeffrey’s Steakhouse, who is getting married in 2 weeks and wanted to know the secret to making a marriage last 25 years; and an older French couple who couldn’t speak a word of English, but managed to communicate that he had been in insurance and she was in banking.

These are the faces of humanity. These are people I don’t really know, but I sympathized with and privately prayed for. These are  people who shared a piece of themselves with a total stranger, trusting they would be well-received. These are people who might hurt more than I hurt...who might have deeper scars than I have, and whose future may be bleaker than mine.

God bless you, Phyllis, Torrie, Jan, Ella May, and all the rest who may not have shared your name with me. Thank you for reminding me that I am not the only one in pain, and my pain is not greater than everyone else’s pain. Thank you for granting me perspective.

For a convicting music video by Brandon Heath that puts feet to this topic, go to https://g.co/kgs/pJvWxE.