By Scott Vaughan
Once upon a time when our son William was living in DC, my Vicki and I would often take the Amtrak Palmetto line from Florence to Alexandria, VA, and use the Metro system to get around the nation’s capital. We liked using this Amtrak route because it comes and goes during the daytime.
On one visit, we boarded the train to come home to South Carolina. I sat on the outside of our row. On a stop in Virginia, a gentleman boarded the train and sat across the narrow aisle from me –on the outside of his row. I glanced up from the book I was reading and smiled as he sat down.
The train lurched forward.
As we made our way south through the Old Dominion State, I heard what I thought was gentle crying. When the crying continued, I looked up from my book to see the man across from me weeping. I faced forward and closed my eyes.
Was this happening to me? Right here, right now? In the middle of my book’s “good part?”
I took a deep breath, closed my book, and turned to the right, putting my hand on the man’s shoulder. “Please tell me what’s wrong,” I said. He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief and told me that his wife had died unexpectedly, the family home had been sold, his possessions were dispersed to strangers, and he was moving to his daughter’s house in Florida. He wanted to take the train alone to Florida because his wife loved to ride Amtrak. She thought it was a romantic way to travel.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said. “I’m having a rough day.”
I told him that he wasn’t bothering me, and asked him to tell me his story. From Virginia down through North Carolina, I heard his life story, waiting for him to cry a bit at various times. The deeper I waded into his life story, the deeper I waded into his pain. The deeper I waded into his pain, the more I was able to understand it and encourage him.
He told me about his work with the federal government, how he met his wife, his children and their careers, family vacations, and his love for woodworking and fishing. I just listened and occasionally asked a question to keep the stories going. The more he talked, the less he paused to cry. He began to talk about opportunities in Florida –opportunities for golf and new friends. He acknowledged that it would be good to be around grandchildren.
As we approached our stop in Florence, I asked him, “Can I pray for you?” Surprised, he looked at me and said, “It’s been a long time since I heard someone pray, but I would like it very much.” I prayed over him there in our row on the Amtrak Palmetto line. When Vicki and I got up to leave at our stop, he stood up and shook my hand.
The Apostle Paul wrote in Colossians 3:12, “Since you are the people that God loves, you must clothe yourselves with tenderhearted mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.” You and I must live our lives so simply that we can see the pain of people that God loves, and walk into that pain with them. I promise that you will be blessed by the care you provide others.
