I am reminded today – after a week away from commuting – that life goes on. Work life, that is.
In the last week I have lost someone I loved very dearly, I have sung drunken carols with strangers, I have been put under the professional spotlight, I have danced until my legs collapsed, I have read many many books and I have made a whole bunch of people smile.
Today though, work goes on. Today I stand on a cold platform with my hours mapped out by deadlines and outputs and management and expectations not my own.
Tempted to sink into a melancholy for the next 3 stops, I pick up the Metro (which demonstrates how low I have sunk already) and read on, becoming steadily more confused… It is dated from 2 weeks ago.
Curiosity trumps self-pity. Why the hell is a two-week old freesheet sitting on my seat as if only recently unfurled?
At East Dulwich a happy-looking man in a Sinatra-meets-Accessorize white scarf bounds onto the seat opposite. I ask him about the paper, does he have a theory perhaps?
His response is that one of the Bonzo Dog Doo-dah Band used to hoard copies of the Evening Standard and distribute them a year later, watching with a giggle in his heart to see if/when the commuters around him noticed.
This amiable stranger works as an environmental firefighter, minimising the potential damage of ‘green’ disasters. He also has a business card that Patrick Bateman would kill for. Literally.
I walk down the escalator at London Bridge chuckling to myself. What began as a morning full of rejection and worry became something that much more positive.
Experiences like these, I feel, offer some insight into the way God answers prayer. It is not necessarily coincidence, but it cannot be solely my own doing. Perhaps it is choosing to see God’s Kingdom in the smaller – yet still consequential – moments that brings it closer?