Trains And Cars And Mercy

I am a train commuter. I wish I could say it's because I am a vigilant recycler and am concerned about the fossil fuels that I would burn if I drove into the city everyday. That wouldn't be true. I know I'm supposed to care for God's earth and in theory I do. But I'm also supposed to honor my mother and father and value all life and not covet my neighbor's perfectly green and manicured lawn. In the "to do list" of life, recycling falls to the bottom a lot of the time.

I commute by train for two reasons: I have ADHD when it comes to driving and because I am woefully passive behind the wheel.

I often conduct a goal-setting session with myself before I begin a car trip: pay attention, pay attention, pay attention. However as soon as I begin to follow a car with bumper stickers, it's all over. I wonder about the sort of person who plasters their car with slogans about witchcraft and vegetarianism and who obviously saves space in the landfill by storing all their fast food wrappers and empty cups in their back seat. I wonder if they have tried other religions and decided that wicca is the one that suits them best. I wonder if they were raised by a Catholic mother who forced them into a Catholic education complete with plaid jumpers. I wonder if their mom ever gets in that car. I wonder if they adorn their car like that in order to get under their mother's skin. I wonder if their boss sees that car. Do they have a job? If they don't have a job, how do they earn money? Oh no, what if they are living in their car? It's too small to sleep in the back seat. Oh, Emerson's pajamas are too small. We should probably head to Orland Park this weekend to go shopping. Oh, a Five Guys (burger joint) is opening in Orland Park. Tee hee hee, a vegetarian bumper sticker got me to think about a burger....

See? By the time that stream of consciousness plays out I could have turned a quick trip to the grocery store into an adventure in Iowa.

In addition I do not consider driving to be a blood sport. A successful car commuter (SCC) knows which lane to be in at which time. SCC's know to look way ahead to determine which lane is slowing down so as to avoid that lane. SCC's know when a busy exit is approaching and knows that there will be a whole gaggle of cars slowing down in the right lane in order to take that exit. SCC's know to be in the opposite lane. How do I know this? Beth is a successful car commuter and she tells me these things each time I mistakenly try to drive with her in the car. I imagine that car commuters start their day by slamming a Red Bull and biting off the head of a live chicken just so they can get their blood pumping. I also do not like to cut off people in traffic. It seems like cutting in line. It is as if I am in first grade and learning the line rules of the water fountain all over again. It's mean to cut in line. I do not like to switch back and forth between lanes. I cannot be bothered with all that. I am busily contemplating witchcraft and Catholicism and empty fast food wrappers.

Commuting by train is not without nuances. Train commuters tend to take the same train each morning. We become a quasi-community. I am part of the 7:45 am Flossmoor to Randolph Street/South Water collective. We have our own social norms. There is the grandmother who takes her young grandson to the University of Chicago elementary school each morning. No matter what time she arrives at the train station, she worms her way to the front of the group that is waiting to get on the train. Four of five mornings she is the first one on the train. She does whatever it takes to assure that. There is the guy who buys the Chicago Tribune each morning and throws away everything but the sports section. There is the 80's hair band rocker who wears black motorcycle boots year round and reeks of a lifetime spent smoking cigarettes. I often wonder if he really is in a hair band and if so, why does he have to be in the city early each morning?

We tend to sit in the same spot in the same train car. Once seated we pull out our books or iPods or slouch into a restful position. We glare at the non-regulars who talk loudly to their neighbors or who chat on their cell phones about business issues or bad dates.

Exiting the train exposes personality traits. There are those who get up from their seats and stand in the aisle until we come to a complete stop. They don't want to be on the train one minute longer than is necessary. I imagine that they are going to a job where a boss will yell if they are one minute tardy. There are those who wait until almost everyone has left the train before they get up. I imagine they are the ones who hate their jobs and want to prolong their non-work time as long as possible.

By the time we reach my station the aisles of the train car are clogged with my fellow commuters. Some will stop in the aisle and allow those still seated to move into the aisle ahead of them. Some set their jaw, look straight ahead and will not acknowledge the passenger waiting to leave the cramped quarters of their seat. No one and I mean no one will be allowed to cut in front of them! I imagine they don't have any issues with cutting off people in traffic either.

Each morning without fail, as I get up from my seat and make my way off the train, the exact same phrase pops into my head: show mercy just as it has been shown to you. I imagine that God has assigned some poor angel the job of tapping me on the shoulder each morning at 8:38 am. I think the angel is charged with reminding me to tread lightly on my fellow humans. I am reminded to smile and invite them into the aisle ahead of myself. Show them kindness, let them cut in front of you.

I take a moment. I think about some situation, some time in my life when someone has shown me kindness, mercy and grace. It doesn't matter whether or not I've yelled at my kids that morning or forgotten my lunch on the kitchen counter or spilled coffee in my lap. None of that matters. The phrase washes over me: show mercy just as it has been shown to you.

This is how I start my day. I wish I could say that by the end of the day I had always remembered to show kindness and grace and mercy. That is my growing edge. But as I step into each morning, that is my intent.