Stranger on a Shuttle

Public transportation moves in motion people around the globe. Airliners race across the heavens leaving handwritten trails in the clouds. Trains transport on tracks through the cities and the cornfields. Daily, different strangers are suddenly placed in a seat very near to everyday missionaries. Small talk usually unfolds. How is the weather? What is your destination? What are you reading? Small talk fills moments. God talk fills the heart. Everyday situations as common and ordinary as a ride on a plane, train, or bus can become a God-breathed opportunity to share God's love. It is up to each believer to decide if he will fulfill the Great Commission or push it under a stack of newspapers on his lap.

One evening, I found myself departing on a shuttle from the National Cancer Institute in Bethesda, Maryland, It had been a long three days of tests and treatment talk from the physicians. I was far from home and my body and mind were exhausted. The shuttle would take me to BWI (Baltimore-Washington International) Airport for my flight home. Tucked away in my purse and carry on baggage was this everyday missionary’s most important possessions. My Bible was my constant travel companion and comforter. I carried small booklets on healing and God’s promises. Business-sized cards with the prayer of salvation rested in my purse. On one trip when a good friend accompanied me, we sat down on our flight to Bethesda and almost simultaneously said, “We’re on a mission from God.” Refusing to focus on our concerns and problems, but remaining focused to find and share with the lost, enables one to overcome the pity pitfalls that can beckon when life circumstances are rough.

As I reclined my head back and buckled in for the usual high-speed ride to BWI Airport, I noticed among the commuters, a man with his son in front of me. Their facial expressions and demeanor were broken. I knew that they had boarded at the National Cancer Institute with me so I assumed that either one of them had cancer or they had just left someone there with cancer. Time passed. Horns honked and tempers flared on I-95. Small talk was made among the passengers. The man asked if I had cancer. And conversation ensued.

He proceeded to tell me of his diagnosis of multiple myeloma. His doctors had “predicted” that he would live less than 6 months. His young son’s eyes were filled with confusion and fear. I listened and prayed. My hand reached into my bag and I began to share the hope and promises of my Heavenly Father. Don’t give up. Don’t listen to the reports of mortal men. Jesus died on the cross for our spiritual and physical healings. Hang on. Pray. There was so much to say as the Interstate 95 miles ticked off on the speedometer of the shuttle. I told him to look to God. To read these books – yes, you can take them with you. They will explain so much. The airport was fast approaching out the windows. He smiled. His son’s eyes resonated with a spark of hope. This everyday mission wished them well and proceeded to my terminal.

I was thankful that evening that I had those books with me to share. I prayed that hope and healing would grip the lives in that family. I asked the Lord to spare this father’s life as I thought back on the blonde headed little boy. After returning home, I would wonder a few times how the father was doing. Time passed—six months to be exact. And a return trip to Bethesda was scheduled for me.

Another Thursday clinic visit came and ended. Fourteen hundred miles were traveled once again. The wait for the shuttle back to the airport passed slowly as I longed to return to familiar places and faces. As I boarded that shuttle, to the amazement of my eyes, there sat that father and son I had encountered six months early. The little boy's father was alive and looked much healthier than he had on that first shuttle ride when Jesus was introduced to Him as Savior and Healer. Around his neck was a large cross necklace. I don’t believe he recognized me and I didn’t feel impressed to remind him that I was the everyday missionary who had shared materials and God-words with him and his son six months earlier.

I knew at that moment God had allowed our paths to cross for a moment to reassure me of my mission and to remind me of His all encompassing plan of salvation, love and hope for each man, woman, boy or girl whom His hands created.