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The Los Angeles metro bus conjured up vibes of the Hotel California. I doubted upon entering that I could ever leave. Fights broke out amongst passengers. Other travelers appeared dazed or hallucinating. And then there was me, fresh from the Midwest so to speak, utilizing the transit to pick up a car rental. Seats were almost impossible to snag, and the ride proved painful with wild turns and dips for my knees. I clutched an overhead strap for life as one sudden turn sent my favorite sunglasses, positioned on top of my head, flying into eternity. After a few stops, a seat was secured for me. Finally relaxing some, I looked around again. This time, laying judgment aside, I studied my environment thoroughly, and what I noticed pained me. Many passengers looked exhausted. Their vacant expressions bereft of hope, joy and even the satisfaction of a warm meal. Others huddled together on the floor’s corner, astonishingly asleep with pajama-clad legs drawn up to their chins. And then there were those like me, finding themselves directed on this pathway after their plane had landed. The atmosphere, thick with fears, emptiness, and a sense of callousness, distressed me. So many seem lost, Lord. Hopeless. Even angry and guarded. If this is just a glimpse into a city window of strangers, what tool, talk, or social aid exists that could ever penetrate this kind of dysfunction? At the next stop, a frail looking man outside, most likely in his eighties, stumbled to the hard pavement as he tried to enter the bus. Travelers walked past him as if he were nothing more than an object in their way. He leaned on his cane to stand, then patted down his weathered American veteran’s ball cap on his head again. The overcrowded transit had no available seats, and worse, this man, if left standing, would be thrown around easily by its abrupt maneuvering. Many passengers closest to him looked away. As new travelers shuffled in front of me, they blocked my view from the older man as I motioned that he could have my seat. When the sea of people finally parted, I realized that a young man in his twenties, with a football player build (that apparently would intimidate anyone from messing with him or the veteran), had already stepped down the stairs of the bus to help the man inside, lifting his bag, assisting him on the steps and politely moving others out of the way to settle the veteran into the seat the young man had just secured for him. I looked around, noticing that many passengers had been watching the young traveler’s actions as well, their gazes curiously thoughtful. Obviously, this scene didn’t fit a cultural narrative of division promoted by the news. The young man didn’t leave the veteran’s side, but thanked him for his military service, asked him questions, and soon, both engaged in what appeared to be an interesting exchange of storytelling. Others nearby, who earlier had been standoffish, now joined in the conversation with the two men. Stories of wars, veteran grandparents, days of coal mining, building bridges, and so forth filled the atmosphere. Common ground was found and shared. The young man assisted others coming in and out of the bus, but now, other men joined in to help. Passengers’ expressions changed from guarded to open then welcoming. Laughter rang out, and many travelers seemed regretful when their exit stop arrived, waving goodbye and using first names—strangers no longer. Astonished, I wondered, could all of this positive change be from one small act of kindness? The resounding answer was yes. So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love… 1 Corinthians 13:13. The pieces fell into place. In a world of indifference, a world of self-absorption, a world pitted socially and culturally against one another by nefarious media sources, it was as if God reminded me that people are never powerless in a seemingly hopeless situation. That love, birthed from simple acts of kindness (such as this young man’s) crosses barriers, breaks walls, and encourages hope. I watched as the young man stayed by the veteran’s side, attentive and assisting him at his final destination before shaking hands and parting ways. My heart overflowed. “Hey Mom,” the young man said, now appearing by my side. “Here you go.” He handed me my sunglasses. Thrilled, I slipped them back on. I knew, like always, he’d kept a watchful eye on me even when helping others. He then lifted my luggage and guided me down the metro’s steps. “I’m glad you had a seat most of the way,” he said. Once outside in the fresh air, I turned to him. “Simeon, I’m so proud of you. You know that?” He looked confused. “For what?” I slipped my arm through his, pausing to turn back toward the metro bus we’d just departed. Remembering my earlier thoughts that this part of the city’s wounds seemed beyond healing, I now had a different perspective. Nothing is impossible. Nothing, I thought, knowing that I’d never forget this ride, never, for inside that bus, I had just witnessed its remarkable transformation….and all from one random act of kindness. An act that created the strongest weapon of all against darkness. The weapon of love. “I’ll tell you later,” I told him, keeping in stride with him as we crossed the busy street, around the corner and far from the metro transit buses crisscrossing through traffic. “But for now, let’s just say, for getting us out of the Hotel California….” ~Karina Garrison
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