The Man on the Train

There are some days, when I wake up, and I think "What is God going to do today? What is his amazing purpose for me today?". And then there are other days, when I wake up and I think to myself (horribly) that I wish God had never given me free will- so that I wouldn't have to choose Him over myself, when all I want to do is go back to bed and put a pillow over my face.

Today, I asked God to take the decision away from me. I simply don't want a choice anymore. I don't want to wander away from Him, and I don't want to constantly struggle with myself, my body, and my mind to serve Him. I feel so tired! I don't want my faith to be some kind of giant hypocrisy!

I'm not sure of the the theological connotations of asking that of God (although I think they're probably negative. After all, what is a relationship with Jesus if you're not willing to "Count it all as loss"?). All I know is that after I woke up way too late, I got in a fight with my Dad, worried anxiously over the status of one of my student loans, and then jumped on the train, listening with irritation to the overly loud chatter of high school students on their way to the Arts school near Cityplace.

I took a seat across from the bathroom, and my mind drifted as I looked at the door with its star-shaped key hole. I remembered hearing about a young person, a few years back, taking their life in a train bathroom. I started thinking about it, imagining what would've happened if I was present for that situation.

Now maybe you're not like this- but I my mind sees everything in scenes- like acts of a play, or moments in a movie script. In my mind I could see the blood seeping underneath the doorway two feet in front of me like it was really there- and in my mind I jumped up, banging on the door, asking someone to go get train personel. But the door was open. Once I figured that out, I tore the door open, and saw a young man slumped on the floor, in a worn poloshirt and faded black jeans, his eyes shut, his wrist bleeding profusely. I ripped a section on his undershirt and tied it around his wrist to staunch the bleeding. In my mind, I'm screaming for someone to stop the train and call 911. I'm thinking "Who is this guy, who decided that he couldn't wait to get home to die? Did he hate himself that much?" That's when I start thinking, as his eyes flutter open, his face perspiring and his eyes dilating as he starts going into shock- that maybe this man isn't going to make it.

And then in the middle of this horrible, detailed, daydream about something I never want to personally experience- I think "What would I say to a strange man I know is about about to die? What would I want him to know? What would the last words he hears on earth be if I spoke them?"

I started tearing up, on the seat across from the bathroom. I know exactly what I'd say. And suddenly I realize that the whole reason my mind is wandering strangely around in this dramatic scene is for this moment. I am conscious of the fact that God is showing me something.

I would say this.

"Jesus loves you. You are the beautiful creation of God, made in his image.  He created you with purpose, and with delight.You have been pursued your whole life by that love. Right this minute, God wants you to know what a treasure you are to Him, even as you make this choice. You are a  precious gift of the Most High God. Even if you don't get through this- you can still live with Him in eternity. Choose Him now. Choose His Love. Don't drift away without Him."

God often uses my imagination to wreck me. My greatest weakness, and my greatest strength. It makes me empathetic, and it makes me idealistic- but make it harder to bring it into practice. Harder to bring my mind to order and to honor God with my thought-life.

To choose God in my daily life is my greatest struggle. But as I sat on that train, I remembered again why I chose him in the first place. I chose him because the man on the floor of the train bathroom would've been me.

 I remember what it was like to hate everything about myself so much that I wanted to die, everyday of my life. I remember what it was to think myself so unworthy of love, that hearing people talk about my value made me angry with them, because it felt like they were lying, or twisting the truth about my petty, lying, innately flawed nature. Thought secretly, that if they really knew me, they couldn't possibly love me. I lived with that darkness most of my childhood, as a teenager. I lived with it as an adult.

But God brought me truth in the form of people who unashamedly loved me. He showed his love to me through people first- and then when he had my heart primed- he showed me his love Himself, in quiet moment on the floor of a dorm common room. I was sitting in front of a mirror, crying for some unremembered reason, when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, all runny nosed and red- and I felt the love of God inexplicably come at me full force, with "I love you. You are my beloved. You are beautiful." Suddenly, God's pursuit of me during the entire extent of my life seemed blatant- everything wonderful and horrible that had happened, seemed both intentional and loving. And the wounds I carried seemed trivial in comparison to that Love. It swallowed me up.

And for the first time in my life, I felt really, truly beautiful. I really believed it of myself in that exact moment- with angry red cheeks, and blood-shot eyes, and tears running down my face. I started laughing, and ...I fell back into the arms of Grace.

That is why I choose Him. That's why I WANT to choose Him.

I don't ever have to worry that God's going to let me walk away from Him. He knows my thought-life- he uses the imagination that I let run away with itself lead me right back to Him. Like a child, he grabs my hand before I run into the street- he leads me back to the safe haven of the front porch. I sit on his lap and watch the cars drive by without fear, anxiety or worry, because I know he's got my hand. and  that I am in the palm of His.

I'm glad I'm not some kind of robot. I'm glad I get to choose Him- and experience the tenderness of his well-pleased love in me. I'm glad I get to choose him instead of myself, because it reminds me that my body is formed out of dust. Formed lovingly, as a temporary vessel to possess a soul that is desperately loved, and of use to God.

But truthfully,that daydream also reminded me of something else-

Preparedness. The dying man wasn't just me- He also represents the people around me. There are people I meet on the street, every day of my life, that feel that daily the kind of self- hatred and anger that I felt for myself. They walk across the street when you pass by, avoiding authentic relationships because they think they don't deserve them. They angrily huff past you when  don't move fast enough in the narrow aisle of the gas station grocery. They are your anxious coworker. They're your silent mailman. They are your very angry boss.

I need to walk out of my house prepared, with the words ready at my lips. The words I would speak to the dying man- I need to speak to the persnickety members of my home owners association.

I need to live those words into friendships- into interactions with strangers on the street.

I need to take my idealistic ideas, and get out of my head, and bring it the streets.

And through it all... I need to still remember, and continue to be the crying/laughing girl in front of the dorm mirror. Vulnerable and jubilant. In awe. In Love.

Let the dying man live again. I have all the rescue I need.

:) :) :)