A man on a train

This post is about a man on a train.

While our son William was living in DC, my Vicki and I went up to visit about 3-4 times every year. Mostly, we drove from South Carolina, but occasionally we took the Amtrak Palmetto line from Florence to Alexandria, VA, and then used Uber or Lyft to get around the city.

We enjoyed the train travel because going up to DC and coming home were both daytime trips. We had free wi-fi, free Diet Coke and water in the Cafe Car, and regarding space, the seats in Business Class are similar to First Class on Delta. It's a relaxing way to spend a day. We read a lot. Last fall, I sat at a table in the Cafe Car and knocked out four chapters of my new book, Hickory Trail.

On one of our Amtrak trips home, I was reading a first-edition of Larry McMurtry's 890-page epic, Lonesome Dove. Across the center aisle from me was a senior adult man riding alone. I later learned he was 84 years old. He got on the train with us in DC, and I had helped him lift his bags to the compartment over the seat.

His name was Ray, and we exchanged small talk before we each dove into our books of choice. Down the line into North Carolina, I went to the Cafe Car to get a snack. Returning to my seat, I was startled by a sound coming from Ray's side of the aisle. Ray was sobbing - gasps and all. He was suffering from a deep place.

I could not ignore Ray's sobs across the aisle. I closed my book and took a deep breath. I heard the Lord whisper, "When you really want to reflect my love for you, step into another person's pain."

I heard Ray get control of his emotions and saw that as a good entry point. I leaned over and said, "I know you are going on to Savannah, but we get off in Florence. I'll get your baggage down for you and leave it in our seats."

He thanked me.

I told him my best friend from college was a Savannah attorney, and that Vicki and I like to go to Tybee Island. Once upon a time, a newspaper company I worked for had its headquarters in Savannah. Ray told me that he had recently moved to DC to live with one of his daughters. He was going “home” to Savannah to wrap up things related to the move. And, then, the tears flowed.

Big, painful tears.

“My wife wants a divorce – after 50 years of marriage," he sobbed.

He was going home to sign papers and begin arrangements to sell their home. I asked him about his children – other than the daughter he was joining in DC – and he talked of their four natural children and one adopted daughter. And, then, he took a deep breath and cried some more.

“My daughter Diane died last year," he said.

 He apologized for the blubbering, and then said, “I wish I had been a better daddy; no matter how old you are, losing a child is the most horrible thing that can happen to you.” I just wondered to myself if somehow his daughter’s death from cancer had loosened the binding ties of his marriage - even at this stage in life.

“Please keep me in your prayers,” he said, and it wasn't a rote request. It was a pleading that I could not ignore. It was a begging for divine intervention. I reached out and took Ray's hand, and right there across the aisle of Amtrak's Palmetto line, by this time in South Carolina, I prayed aloud for this hurting man.

Once upon a time, I would have worried what everyone else around me was thinking, but no more - the urgency of being the hands and feet of Jesus trumps what anyone might think about me.

“You must be in the ministry,” he said.

“All Jesus followers are in the ministry,” I told him.

We talked about faith and church. He regretted not having his family in church more, and he regretted not being the spiritual leader in his family. “We were in church when the children were little, but then we just stopped going. None of them go now. If I had it to do over again, we would have been in church every Sunday,” he said. I steered the conversation away from church and back to the peace and hope and love that comes when we put an X on today and live forward with Jesus. Putting Jesus first will likely move a person to join with like-minded followers in a Christian community (church).

And, then, we were approaching Florence. As I stood up, he reached for my hand and said, “It’s funny how all conversations can easily lead to faith. Thank you for reminding me that God cares about me. It’s been a long time since I heard someone talk about Jesus.”

It was then that this 50-something man on the train began to fight back tears of his own.

www.scottdvaughan.com

Comments

  1. Next time could you give a tissue alert before you post one of these? Wow! Thank you for sharing this wonderful story. You could have just looked away but you didn't. I know the man thanked you but I thank you to for being the hands and feet of Jesus!

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