Traffic Light

In the searing heat of August, the sun is out and the temperature is in the nineties. I’m creeping along steadily in afternoon traffic. Light to light.

At one particularly long light, an elderly woman is slowly pushing a cart of her belongings along the road. She turns and reveals a neatly handwritten sign.

Need money for food. God bless.

I reach for my wallet and roll down the window, not sure if she can make the short steps over the curb to my car. I am prepared to step out if necessary, but she makes it over, and in the gracious tones of the village priest, thanks me.

“Can you believe how beautiful this day is?” She proclaims.

“You know a year ago I was paralyzed, flat on my back. Couldn’t move a muscle. Had to learn to walk again. I’m moving slow now, but the way I’m going, won’t even need this cart to lean on soon.”

“Praise the Lord!” She adds.

Traffic lights give deadlines to these conversations, and I can see this one is close to changing.

“It was a pleasure talking with you,” I offer. “Good to see you’re up and about!”

“The pleasure was all mine,” She smiles.

The light turns green and I pull away, feeling better at the encounter, my own small burdens a little lighter.

We meet, two strangers on the road. Share a moment, a short conversation, and move on with the journey.

But she’s given me something I didn’t have before. Something I didn’t even know I needed. Connection with another human being, and all that entails. We are all born, we live, we die. What’s meaningful is how we treat each other along the way.

Warren Zevon, the great singer/songwriter, when asked how he was coping with terminal cancer in his final months, responded…

“Enjoying every sandwich.”

The sun reflects off the mirrored office buildings on my drive, warming the day, lighting the way.

“Praise the Lord, indeed.”