Hello Ministries

Once upon a time, when I was a college student, I went on a trip to San Francisco over spring break to do some service projects and learn about the city. While there, I heard a speaker talk to us about all the people that go to work on MUNI and the BART, in the zones of their commute, surrounded by crowds, and yet quite alone. He challenged us, in our short week there, that when we were on public transit, we should approach these zombies and say hello. He asked us to consider the power of breaking through the monotony of their day and reaching out to experience community and relationship. 

We took that challenge to a bit of an extreme, and there may or may not have been some line dancing at one point going on in the middle of a MUNI bus. Our raucous enthusiasm inspired one passenger to query, with near sarcasm, "you kids are Christians, aren't you?" Yes, MUNI Zombie woman, we were. So ok, maybe we were a little zany, but I took that philosophy to heart. 

Years later, when I commuted into the Financial District of San Francisco on a daily basis, I looked for those little opportunities to connect with my fellow zombies, and really beautiful things happened, not the least of which was my own nourishment from the fruit of those connections. I would even go so far as to say that my commute was one of the greatest blessings to me in that season of my life, and I often find myself missing dear old AC Transit, the G and H bus lines. Public transportation was one of my favorite things about living and working in an urban center. 

While I believe there still exist buses here in small town Maine, they are hardly even necessary for us, as this town is so walkable, even in the winter. My husband's work commute is so brief, and Sofia and I can stand safe and warm behind our back door, and watch him go all the way from our steps to the walkways of campus. He has complained more than once that his walk is not even long enough to listen to any decent amount of music on the headphones I bought him expressly to liven up his commute. No, we do not live in a bustling urban center anymore. 

But take heart! My dear sweet Sofia has taught me yet another lesson. Even though I miss my bus driver, Elias, dearly, and we can no longer hear the BART rails hum through the night from our bedroom, we still have opportunities to break through moments of isolation and reach out to Zombies in transit. 

With a matter of steps, Sofia and I are able to intersect the student's path between their dorms/classrooms/and athletic facilities. And apparently, 80-90% of these students are involved in sports, so I figure we're catching most of the population at some point or another. For months we've watched students from our window or sidewalk traipse back and forth or head out and back from their runs. Sofia has actually been trying to greet them for ages, but something about the sight of an infant in arms was making us invisible to 18-22 year olds, for whom babies are only a terrifying concept. 

But now Sofia is walking. And somehow, that has made us visible again. And out we go, and along comes our prey. Ear buds in place, steady gait, shoulders taught up by their ears guarding them from the cold, eyes straight ahead and slightly glazed over. You can usually sense some degree of worry behind their eyes, or at least forlornness or drudgery. But wait, out of the corner of their eyes, what's that? A baby is waving right at them, eyes sharply fixed directly on their person, expectant, waiting to see if she'll get reciprocation. Nine times out of ten she so catches them off guard that they laugh out loud in shock. The zombie regains human life and the glazed look shatters from the power of a huge grin, the kind of grin you can see even in their eyes. Sometimes they're so shocked, all they can do is laugh. Some of them pull it together though and they wave back, and even as we continue to move along our path, they turn back around to watch us go, still smiling our way, processing the joy that just befell them. 

I do. not. know. where she got this from. I'm a terribly shy person. I was the kind of little kid that hid underneath my mother's skirt, grasping for dear life to her calves. But she loves it! Even if they don't wave back, no worry, she's on to find her next victim. And if they do wave back, it is a grand success. And she is also so delighted that she often catches her little breath and eeks out her own little laugh of joy. It is just so simple, and so beautiful. So now, I'm starting to join her, and I say "hello" too. Sometimes, that even allows us to strike up a little conversation. And I'm not sure what all that does for those college kids, but it sure brightens up my day. So hey, if you're feeling a little low, stop on by the field house late in the afternoon, and maybe we'll be there, armed and ready to wave you into a better mood, out of your isolation, into this little community we're forming, which I like to call, "Hello Ministries."

"Hello!"

P.S. After reading this post, my grandmother sent me this message: 

"When I went to Baylor  and went in for my first interview one of the things that we were instructed  was that whenever we were walking across the campus were always to speak to anyone we passed with at least "hello."  It was amazing, but there was hardly ever any one passed, coming or going that didn't speak to each other and sometimes we met new people that way.  I am trying to use that here at [my retirement community] to speak to people in the elevator or passing in the halls and most people seem to answer." 

So cool! Well, maybe that's where Sofia gets it from!