Stranger in the Night

     A ripple of activity engulfs the streets of Chittagong and creates a collective heartbeat of life. Men in colorful lungis peddle bulky rickshaws. Dokon (small shop) owners carefully supervise their businesses. Carts overflowing with fruit are hand pulled, peddled on a bicycle, or propped along the road as workers call out items for sale. Children play on the outskirts of the traffic. Cars, buses, rickshaws, baby taxis, motorcycles, pedestrians, and occasionally even herds of cattle weave around one another, forming the core of the ripple. The colors, smells, sounds, and interactions mesmerize me as I travel each day.
    Each person carries special hopes, dreams, burdens, and heart aches. Our paths rarely intertwine for long, yet God sometimes distributes small pieces of my heart to members of the ripple. At times when I least expect it, a stranger will step into my life, and never fully exit. I met such a person today.
    On my way home from an evening meeting, I gazed through the hazy evening dusk to locate an empty rickshaw in the weaving traffic. My goal was to find a motor rickshaw because I had my hippo sized backpack, and I would be riding with a friend. I hate getting a man-powered rickshaw when I know my load will be extra heavy.
    An enthusiastic rickshawala slowed down as he approached my friend and me. He asked where we were going. Clearly, he wanted us to choose him as our mode of transportation. Sometimes these overly-eager drivers are creepy, but this older man was just sweet. I smiled and said no thank you, having already concluded that he had no motor. My friend and I kept walking for several seconds. During this time, the man turned around and slowly made his way in our direction again, but on the opposite side of the road. I noticed no other options in the immediate area, so I beckoned him over. His face beamed as I explained where we wanted to go.
    Once my friend and I were situated, the rickshawala set off at a commendable speed. Having tried to peddle a rickshaw once in my life, I now realize they are monsters to move when they are empty, yet alone when they shelter two people carrying hippo bags. My friend and I chatted as our rickshawala skillfully participated in the dance of the street.
    After dropping off my friend, I asked the man if he would continue driving and deliver me to my home. He smiled and said he would. Having noticed that I was now a single lady traveling alone at night, the man, in his most gentlemanly way, asked if he could put the top down on the rickshaw. This gave me privacy from gawking eyes. I could sense that the rickshawala would passionately protect and take care of me if the need arose. This was the moment when he became a stranger I would never forget. Once again, we swerved into the maze of activity.    
    When we reached my home, I asked him how much money he would like for the ride. He smiled a kind smile and said that it was up to me how much I wanted to pay. I gave him what I had, and wished I had more change to add to the sum. It was a more than decent payment, yet I wanted to somehow show my deep appreciation for his sweet spirit. Without him even being aware, God had ushered him into that special place in my heart where strangers who come, never fully leave.
    I handed him my money, expressed a brief comment of gratitude, and slipped through my gate. As I ascended the stairs to my apartment, I continued conversing with God. What did this man need? What were his passions, hopes, dreams, burdens, and heart aches? I did not give him anything that would radically change his life, yet there was something I had not yet given, that would. Prayer.
    Suddenly it all became clear. I do not know this man, yet God does. In that moment, I began to pray for the stranger who peddled off into the busy night. Though I will probably never see him on earth again, my great God will never leave him. Though I cannot meet his needs, my compassionate Heavenly Father longs to provide for him. As I reached my door, I praised God for the man who would forevermore hold a piece of my heart.
    I do not know what God has planned for this man. Yet this I know, he is deeply loved by the Almighty God. In moments like these, I realize that God does not call me to help every person, but he calls me to love every person. He does not ask me to solve every problem, heal every hurt, or feed every hungry soul. In the midst of these divine appointments, the radiant joy that fills my soul is that I know the One who can meet EVERY need and provide everlasting life to the heartbeats on the streets. I ask my King to reveal His glory to the strangers who carry pieces of my heart.

Patience in the Shadows

    Patience is an easy concept, yet it is a difficult practice. My ambitions soar high when I dream about the teacher I desire to become. As part of my recent reflections regarding the characteristics of an outstanding teacher, I wrote that, “An outstanding teacher is first recognizable by the glimmer of her sacrificial love. When challenges arise that drain her patience and weary her bones, she chooses love. This love seeks the best for her students. She continually fills the fountain of her patience so it scarcely runs dry. Her discipline radiates calm, yet firm, care that will grow powerful character in young hearts.” As I stand before my class, these words, my words, pierce my heart. This is who I want to be. However, getting there requires a fierce battle against my selfishness. With a deep breath and a humble prayer, I beseech my Father to enable me to mirror His patience to my students.
    This description is a glimpse into my day today. Each day has fresh challenges and budding blessings. The trick is to dance in the rain, put on the sunglasses of hope, and don the lipstick of joyfulness. Perhaps these references are too removed from context to make sense to anyone but myself. Yet, God uses them to steady my busy heart. It is through this outlook that I can enjoy the laughter, cherish the beauty, and love through the bumps.
    After this long day, I stepped through the WCA gate and onto the chaotic street. My roommates and I headed to a shop to buy outfits for a school program. Our energy was zapped, and shopping was a necessary, yet far from eagerly anticipated, feat. We headed to a series of shops and explained the articles we needed. The second shop engulfed me with a sense of God’s provision. The workers had exactly what I needed, for an incredible price, and they were perfect gentlemen. We bought two saris and set out in search of one more for my third roommate.
    The third sari turned out to be the most difficult to find. Eventually, we managed to find one and haggle a reasonable price. By this time, we were drained. A looooong day at school, busy shopping, and piles of papers to grade and lessons to plan at home, weighed us down. We stepped once more onto the busy streets, now blanketed in a sheet of evening darkness.
    Immediately, four small children rushed to our sides and grabbed our hands. They know us well. We always smile and use our limited Bangla to talk with them. They ask us for food and money, and we seek God’s guidance to best know how to love them. Today, my heart sank when I saw them. I love them, yet they required me to produce more of that slippery character I had already drained for the day, patience. I took a deep breath, drew strength from my Savior’s heart for His loved ones, and smiled down at my two new companions. They each attached themselves to my arms.
    Picture with me, three foreign women, walking through the streets of Chittagong. Every person we pass stops to stare at us, always. It is dark, we have giant turtle shells on our backs (backpacks bursting with books and papers). Cars, rickshaws, baby taxis, motorcycles, buses, bicycles, and people rush by just inches from our sides. To complete the scene, I have two small children dangling from my arms. Yes, dangling. They decided it was great fun swing at death’s door, hanging on my arms between the traffic and a wall. I quickly tried to get them near the wall, so they didn’t stumble into traffic. This is their scene though, they know how to navigate the maze, and my attempts are humorous to them.
    Are you on the streets with me yet? Can you see me trying desperately to balance myself with my fatigue, backpack, and two acrobatic children? There I was, pleading with my Father to 1. not allow me to stumble and cause the three of us to be ushered to His golden gates and 2. to please intervene in my heart and strengthen me to react in a way that honored Him. I can almost picture His smirk as He commissioned the man who was to answer that prayer.    
    I heard several rickshawalas roar at the children to leave us alone. Although I appreciate their desires to assist, their interferences never please me. No, God did not commission the angry voices to provide for His daughter today. In contrast, His servant swept in from the darkness, grabbed the arm of the little acrobat who wasn’t intimidated away by the crowd, and pulled him from my wrist. The only warning of his approach was his admonishing, “Nah, nah” (no, no) to the child before he intervened.
    My gaze intently followed him as the event quickly transpired. I was worried, because when this happens, the men usually hit the children as they drag them off. I was prepared to reclaim my acrobat if the transfer appeared hostile. To my astonishment, the man silently pulled the child down the street away from me. He did not hit, yell, or demonstrate any animosity. I watched for what seemed like quite a long time. The man secured a great distance between us, then simply let the child go. He never once demonstrated anger or unkindness.
    His actions immediately flooded my heard with a picture of my Heavenly Father’s dealings with me. When I get myself in dangerous situations, when I refuse His path of goodness, He first sends out the trumpet call of loving warning. This was like the man’s original, “Nah, nah” to the child. When my stubborn heart refuses to heed His warnings of danger, He sweeps in to rescue me. He firmly, yet tenderly, grasps my wrist and pulls me to safety. I have experienced His glorious rescue. He lifts me from the storm where the waves consume me, and He drags me to safety.
    As I scurried along the dark and busy streets, my Savior reminded me of His loving patience, firm grasp, and discipline of love. I praise God for that man who drew my gaze heavenward tonight. Once again, I ask my Father to fill the fountain of my patience. I thank Him for His patience with me, and I praise Him as my beautiful King of glory. Like His commissioned servant tonight, He grasps my wrist and lovingly leads me along His perfect path.