Two black engines—that’s how close I was to missing the train altogether. Instead, I watched as graffiti-tagged boxcars rumbled in front of me as I idled in my Prius within shouting distance of my apartment. I could see my road flash between the train connectors, but I couldn’t get there.
Trucks and compacts stretched up the hill behind me and disappeared around the corner. For five minutes, we had a common purpose—letting the train clear the crossing. We were held together without meaning to be.
And then it was gone—disappearing with a blue-rimmed skull above a bubble-letter nickname I couldn’t read. The gates rose, and the line of clustered cars dispersed.
Maybe that’s a strange place to notice, but I wondered about the impact I’m having. As humans, we get knotted together in groups at various points in our lives—like points of tension when a rope is kinked up. We have times when we get thrown together with a cross section of other people, and for that moment, we’re connected by an event, purpose, or roadblock.
But what am I doing with those moments? Am I using them to share love? Or am I just waiting for the time to pass?
Every day, people stumble by on their way somewhere. It’s easy to be absorbed in my own life, but I’m called to reach out and take hold of such moments.
I want to love my life away for Christ. I don’t want to hoard it for myself.