As I made my way to the Royal Oak station for the last time this morning, everything in the world seemed to be in steady flow, it was the type of morning I had come to understand as a rare luxury during my short time here in London. I walked through the now familiar turn styles, down the dirty stair case, and was met by an uncrowded train in perfect time. There is little that feels better than a perfectly timed commute. I stepped through the doors of the train and found a seat in the last car of the train, I started to reach for my headphones but decided I would enjoy this, my final ride, in its full glory.
In many ways, commuting in London yielded some of the greatest change in my perspective on daily life. I don’t think I learned tons of new lessons, but I did learn new bigger importance of truths in my life and what they can mean in the simple small contexts of daily life. I learned much about diversity, about the big vast humanity that God so dearly loves. I learned to be more patient and gracious, I learned how little my plans and agenda mean, I learned to not be so frustrated when obstacles present themselves in the way of my often selfish desires. I learned that my orchestrated life of convenience had actually turned out to shelter me from great change and some great adventures. Above all, I think in many ways I learned to live my life with an open-handed grip and learned to pay closer attention to the millions of miracles we can see each day if we so choose to live unattached and attentive lives.
I sat in my seat quietly, embracing the surreal sensation of finishing a chapter in my life. It was a good chapter, but it is over, and in two days time I return home to a very new old life. I think I am ready, I am ready to put to work the new ideas and perspectives I’ve gained, and lay to rest some old silly notions that I have come to learn were keeping me from knowing and living a fuller and truer life.
As we pulled up to Paddington Station, three passengers boarded the train and sat in the seats across from me. Two of them were mentally handicapped men, both appearing in their late 30’s. They both wore matching shoes, and by most other measures seemed to match attire for the brisk morning air. The man on the left wore an Arsenal hat, and the man on the right had his identification documents around his neck in a purple carrying case. They smiled and chattered to each other in an excited and animated tone as they took their seats.
With them was a young Asian woman who was clearly with the men to escort them to their destination. The two chaps seemed entirely unconcerned with her presence, but occasionally would look to her to capture a moment of her attention and affirmation. She would answer warmly with a patient gentle tone, and though she seemed tired her compassion seemed to have a confident and steady resolve.
The train slowly clattered along, as usual signal failures, congestion, changing conductors all presented their own constraints on my progress east to the city, but this morning I found myself un-frustrated and un-concerned with the crawling commute. The two gentlemen continued on in their excited banter, beyond the fact that they were going on holiday, I gathered little as to what they were saying. I don’t think I needed to hear their words, because I caught the importance of their presence before me, that being, the simple joys of this life that we can find if we so choose to simply look for them. What I had grown to love about the tube was the consistent reminder of the smallness of me in the grand scheme of it all. Man, this world is so full of life, the good and the bad, there’s plenty of it all, and while we can do our best to maneuver towards comfort and satisfaction the one thing we can’t avoid is each other. And so there I sat, my thoughts wandering the landscape of the wonderful memories of my wonderful adventure.
No amount of planning or processing will ever make me ready to make some of the changes I want to make in my life. No volume of prayer or conversation, no amount of reading or consultation will replace the necessity of faithful action. Of all my hopes and desires for the days ahead, I have in the past weeks become less concerned with what they may hold and more concerned with how I might ready my heart to deal with whatever my life brings in the coming days, weeks, and years. The truth is I don’t care about the specifics, none of that matters to me, the where, what, how, when, and how of my circumstances are infinitely eclipsed by why I am where I am, why I do what I do, and the ultimate purpose for my time here, to be a conduit for the work and love of Christ.
We pulled in to King’s Cross and St. Pancrass station, and the two men along with the young woman stepped off the train, and more commuters shuffled on in their place, filling in the gaps. The vibrant conversation which until now had been filled the rail car’s dead air, was replaced with expressionless stares gazing intently at blackberries and iphones. The new cast made me smirk, we people are a strange lot. The conductor came over the intercom apologizing for the delay, and silence befell once again. The train lurched on, and my commute was drawing to a close.
I arrived at my stop at Moorgate and stepped off for what may be the last time at my station in the city, at least for a while. It’s amazing how fast things change, from strange to familiar and back again; it can be good if we let it be. I guess I’ve found that in light of all the variation, its best to travel light, to hold fast to what matters as the rest can fall away so quickly.
I guess that in better understanding my own transience in this life, I’ve come to better learn the value of what today can mean, and in understanding that I can only hope to be ready for today, and tomorrow if I’m so blessed. I walked up the train station stairs and around the corner to my office, I reached into my back pocket for my ID badge and swiped it for the last time. Before I put the card back I gave a quick look down to notice a word of profound relevance for me, in all caps and bold, the word “GUEST”.
Moving Forward,
CP
