from Kristina
Yesterday while flying to NYC to visit a friend, I finished reading You Were Born for This by Bruce Wilkinson. After arriving at my friend’s apartment earlier in the afternoon than I had anticipated, I had the spontaneous idea to surprise her and meet her at the retail store where she works. I wasn’t sure exactly how to get to the store, but I figured I would ask for directions along the way.
When I exited the subway, I didn’t know which way to go to find the store. By this time it was starting to get dark, so I decided the safest thing to do was to just take the subway back to the apartment. Anyway, by that point my friend’s shift had already ended. My plan was a flop.
On my return ride, two women boarded the train-car at the same station. One woman was a sharp-looking professional; the other was a homeless person with her cart. The professional, who had entered the train-car just before the homeless woman, unintentionally didn’t leave adequate space for the homeless woman and her cart, to which the homeless woman started cussing at the professional. Several of us passengers exchanged glances, which only further provoked the homeless woman. I leaned over to the passenger sitting next to me. “I’m a tourist here. Is this normal?” I asked quietly.
After several minutes the professional exited the train car, and I became the object of the cursing. Then I got one of those “nudges” Bruce Wilkinson writes about. “Kristina, that lady’s profuse foul language are cries for help. Cries for somebody to notice her. Cries for somebody to care about her. Cries for somebody to show her a little bit of My love. Kristina, look! There’s an empty seat right next to her. This is your ‘miracle mission’: sit beside her and wrap your arm around her shoulder. It’s been a long time since she’s felt any love.”
As I moved to sit next to her, she was hostile. “Oh, so now you’re going to be nice to me, are you?” she said sarcastically. I put my arm around her shoulder.
“You know,” I replied gently, “saying all those ugly things doesn’t help the rest of us like you.”
“I don’t have any friends,” she started crying.
“I know Someone who wants to be your Friend,” I said softly. “His name is Jesus, and He loves you very much.”
“But He’s in heaven,” she sniffled, “and I have to live here on earth.”
“I know,” I answered, crying with her. “Life is so hard and full of hurts. Jesus knows that. He loves you so much that He came to earth to die for you. He suffered deeply too, and He sees your pain. Jesus rose again so that you can live here on earth with hope.”
I kept stroking her shoulder, listening to her tell me her story. “Can I pray for you right now?” I asked.
“Yes, please do,” she tearfully replied.
Although the train-car was fairly full, for a few minutes it was as though it was just the two of us women—and God—on that subway.
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