the man on the bus

It had been an interesting day. For a number of reasons, I was on the bus home by myself, though that was not normal. The week before had been full of heartache as I learned to be vulnerable and real giving myself permission to not like things and to be ecstatic about others in this (still) new culture. My heart was fragile.

I got a seat on the bus home, which wasn't a guarantee at that hour. I was sitting in the middle of the bus, but right behind the space in the middle left for people in wheelchairs, across the aisle from the exit door. I watched as everyone got off the bus.

It was like most days, people got on and off at nearly every stop. Every seat was full and there were plenty of people standing. I was about halfway between when I got on and when I'd get off when it happened. A man got on the bus through the exit door (meaning he didn't pass by the trocador to pay the bus fare). He got on quickly, and without evening standing. He sat on the first of two steps and hugged the side of the stairwell. The bus driver saw him and yelled something back at him, but he just stayed there, pretended not to hear. He was a frail man, probably in his late thirties/early forties (although he could have been younger, just worn down by life). He had a well used backpack that wasn't overly full but definitely contained what this man deemed necessary for his trip. He was a little ragged looking. He was thin, with well used muscles visible. His hair was dark and curly, his shirt, shorts, and sandals weren't new by any means, but they were well taken of.

What stood out the most to me though, was the effort he put into making himself as small as possible while sitting on that step. He hugged the wall, leaning even further into it as people passed him to get off the bus. He didn't look at a single person. He was utterly defeated. Everything about his posture and the vacant look that stole his face away from the world told me so.

I know nothing of his story. Was he homeless? On the way there? Had he lost his family? Was it drugs? Was it a horrible misunderstanding? Did he just need someone to really see him for the first time in a long time? Was he unemployed? Did he sneak on the bus because he couldn't afford the R$2.75 fare (which I am inclined to assume, though really I have no idea)?

As I sat there, staring at this man's back I was overcome. The well of emotions deep within me didn't know how to feel but knew that this man was deeply loved by his creator and no one was telling him or showing him that. But I was paralyzed. How do you show someone like this, in a matter of an instant, that their creator loves them? When they actively avoid looking in anyone's eyes? And what if I did talk to him and something bad happened? Would he take advantage of my kindness and expect more help from me that I couldn't give? Would I offend him by offering him money if he doesn't actually need it? Would all the warnings people had told me for the last nine months become tragically real in this one encounter?

So I prayed for him. I knew there was no way to mess that up. So, paralyzed in body by my fear, I refused to let my soul be silenced in wanting more for this man's life than what he currently had. I prayed, desperately wishing I could have done something more like James 2 encourages us too. But alas, I am not called to meet every need I see, but to place them before my Father knowing that only he has the solutions and provisions needed.