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.
