Encounter

On a return trip from a holiday train excursion to New Orleans, Beth and I found ourselves aboard a coach car on train #58.  Also in our car was a young woman traveling to Carbondale, Illinois with two small children.  She wore jeans and a black t-shirt, her hair adorned with a black and white houndstooth bow.  The beautiful little brown-eyed, brown haired five year old girl, Jasmine, was accompanied by her blond three year old brother, Colton.

Mother equipped children with sticker books and activities to alleviate their boredom across the many miles. The trip began with Subway sandwiches and chips that were sure to run out. The boy was fascinated with the train tracks, the swamp, unseen alligators, fish, frogs, and an orange and green toy gun that fired with a rat-a-tat sound. The little girl played with princess stickers. The train traveled around the west shore of Lake Ponchatrain, alongside the elevated course of Interstate 10, and then turned north.

Early in the trip, the young mother grew distressed by the conductor's news that she was in the wrong car of the train. Our car contained the passengers bound for Jackson, Mississippi. She was headed beyond.  The conductor sought to comfort her, "I will take care of you when we get to Jackson."

The obviously distressed young woman called a friend.  Fear filled her young voice. Beth and I looked at each other. The young lady misunderstood. We knew it.

I interrupted her phone conversation.  "All is not lost, Ma'am," I said. You are not on the wrong train, just the wrong car."

Her face relaxed. Her story tumbled out to her friend on the phone. She was returning with the children to Carbondale.  A relationship with some certain "him" had fallen through. The police had been called. Someone landed in jail.

Compassion filled our hearts as we listened to the children's playful chatter.  We watched a patient, kind, hurting mother care for her well-behaved children.  I wondered about the details of her story, her background, the “him” she had left behind.  I wondered if this nameless mother had anyone in her life to pray for her in her season of distress.

Colton fell asleep a couple of hours into the four hour trip from New Orleans to Jackson.  The little family would arrive in Carbondale in the wee hours of the morning.  Beth and I hustled off the train at the Jackson station.  We had friends to meet, our car to locate in the parking lot, and Christmas presents to seek at the local toy store.

But as we left, we were praying.  We were praying for a young mother, a five year old named Jasmine, and a three year old Colton.

Chance encounter?  Probably not.