By 7:15 a.m. it had already been a long morning. A really long morning. With determination, my alarm clock started it’s obnoxious call at quarter of five, and would not respect the fact I was beyond exhaustion. I had returned from one business trip little more than 24 hours before, and was heading to the airport for yet another. The commute had tested my alert driving skills, being I didn’t have time to pick up a much needed cup of steaming coffee. After parking my truck in the off-site airport parking lot (inadvertently leaving my half-eaten yogurt cup in the front seat), I proceeded to sit in a shuttle bus for thirty minutes, glancing at my watch every three, while we picked up any and every life form within a ten-mile radius. By the time I checked baggage and made my way through security lines, I had precious little time to make it to my terminal and gate. I rushed through crowds, making my way toward the front in a determined attempt to get on the next train to gate C36. With a sigh of relief, I boarded and then leaned against the window. What a day. And I still had many, many hours to go.

I opened my eyes and took a quick assessment of those in my immediate vicinity. There was a young couple, obviously married, probably going on a vacation or anniversary trip together. Several suited businessman were scattered among my fellow passengers, including a few well-dressed women who were most likely on work-related trips as well. There were others who I assumed were students, going home for the weekend. Some travelers I couldn’t peg, like the woman with a purse the size of my suitcase, and wearing a shirt patterned with giant Hawaiian flowers. Or the young man, not a day over 25, with his IPOD cranked up and thick jewelry hanging around his tattooed neck. He had snagged one of the prime bench seats at the back of the train. Where was he headed, I wondered?
At the next stop, the train picked up a few more weary travelers, further packing the train like a can of albacore tuna. Slowly, an elderly woman entered, glancing around for an open spot where she would not get trampled. She was obviously struggling a bit, age having taken its toll on her sense of balance and ability to stand for long periods of time. She looked briefly toward the bench seats, but all were already occupied. She didn’t seem the least bit concerned, though I knew it wouldn’t take much for this sweet woman to be thrown around when the train departed. It is amazing how many thoughts go through your head in such a short span of time. Before these and others could be resolved, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye, toward the right. When I turned, I was surprised – no, more like astounded – to discover that IPOD-boy was quickly making his way toward the elderly woman. With a gentle touch on her elbow and a barely audible voice, he relinquished his own seat while encouraging her to take his place on the bench. The gesture was made completely absent of fanfare, such that few others even noticed. He saw a need, recognized his ability to meet it, and did not hesitate. What humbled me, more than even his extended grace, was the fact that he was the last person I would have expected to take such initiative. Somehow his youthful, tattooed, bejeweled and black-clothed exterior led me to doubt his ability to show care and concern. And yet, it was his heart, hidden behind the rough façade, which was the first to respond.

This, then, propelled me toward two much needed conclusions. First, God’s grace can come in the most unusual and unexpected packages. The more expectant I am of being witness to God’s daily graces, the more likely I am to recognize it in the most unexpected places. And, second, I have much, much to learn from IPOD-boy. Somehow he had not allowed the events of his day to make him blind to the needs of those around him. He was still in touch and connected to the life of one nameless stranger on an airport train. And his awareness then led to her care, even if for only a moment.

At times, I’m afraid, I allow my day to become like a speeding train, during which all I really see is the vague blur of passing faces. No connections or investments are made. So, what’s it going to take for me to slow the train enough to connect? Am I willing to step out of my own life long enough to step into another’s who could use a touch of grace from me? I challenge you to look for the "elderly woman" in your day. She may not be elderly, nor may she even be a "she." Certainly, someone will cross your path with a need of grace – grace without fanfare, and without expectation of response. And when the moment comes, as I’m convinced it will, be ready to relinquish your seat for the sake of another.

"God is not unjust; he will not forget your work and the love you have shown him as you have helped his people and continue to help them."

Hebrews 6:10