I read my book as the train sways back and forth on the tracks. I look up, observing the passengers occupying the seats in previous rows. Snow swirls outside the windows as the train glides through the lush valley. A little girl sits on her knees breathing on the windows and drawing little figures with her finger on the fogged glass. The mother runs her fingers through the girl’s hair and goes back to her needle work. A man of many years and many wrinkles sits alone on the plush bench in his worn plaid shirt and cowboy hat. He sits, staring longingly out the window at the passing peaks. His eyes squinted and skin crinkled. A huge man sat typing away on his computer, completely oblivious to his surroundings. A young woman sits with her elbows on her knees and face buried in her hands. I can see her shoulders shaking and hear a gasp every once in a while. I look at the couple sitting together smiling, laughing, and leaning against one another.
We all have a story to tell. A story full of tears, laughter, sunshine, rainy days, perfect songs, and gripping novels. This train carries them. The young, the old, the hurt, and the loved. This is the world, sitting in a train car. If I don’t share God’s word with these people, than who will? I ponder this for a few minutes.
Then I stand up.