Somewhere around 9:30 pm, I opened the backseat door of an Uber to make the 45-minute ride home.
Before that night, I had never taken an Uber or anything similar.
Any other evening, I would have been more alert to my surroundings, to the unnatural feeling of being driven at nighttime by a total stranger, a male equally proud of his muscles and his tough attitude. But somewhere between here and there, a conversation unfolded that extricated any racial, age, or gender barriers. We became two voices confiding experiences in the same darkness, each offering a different perspective of our truth. And by speaking openly about our differences, we realized how much more we had in common.
Confined to the small space of his vehicle, we could hear the breath between one another’s pauses. In these lingering thoughts, we contemplated speaking, wondering if our words would offend or propel a deeper conversation. I could sense his hesitation, and he could feel mine. And yet, as the minutes rolled on, so did our words.
We knew we would never see one another again, so we took a risk. We took the risk of being vulnerable, misunderstood, and judged.
“This world is broken,” he began.
“Yes,” I replied. “We live in a world that reminds me of that old saying, ‘Don’t be so open-minded that your brains fall out.'”
“Never heard that one before.” He let out a chuckle. “Yeah, Americans are becoming dumber and dumber. I can remember my childhood phone number but can’t recall my best friend’s phone number because it’s stored in my phone instead of my brain.”
“Same. Everybody seems to have something they are tethered to, whether it’s their phone, job, or relationship. Everyone wants to be someone, yet it doesn’t take long to realize the world is suffering a major identity crisis,” I said.
“I told a woman the other day that she looked pretty, and she gave me an earful about how that was a sexist thing to say… that I would never say that to a man. She got that right. I would never say that to a man, but that don’t make me sexist.”
“Yeah, even casual conversation these days can feel like navigating through a room of tripwires,” I said.
Conversations started and ended, honest conversations about the world, dissension, freedom, and purpose. There was a long pause between us as we carefully tried to find our next sentence.
“I’ve driven hundreds of people in this job,” he said. “Can’t say I’ve ever had a conversation quite like this one before.”
“Really? How so? I’m sure you’ve had some memorable moments,” I said.
“Definitely. No doubt. That’s part of what makes this job easy money. I like listening to people. Put someone in the backseat, and soon they start talking like they’re in a confessional.”
“So why is this conversation different?”
“Because I’ve got ten minutes left on this trip, and I’ve been telling myself to shut up for the last 35 minutes.” He let out a soft laugh. “You know everything from my kids’ ages to how I think a bunch of rich, good ole boys run this world.”
I don’t remember him turning off the radio, but in the silence that followed his last sentence, I realized there was no other noise but our voices. And our voices were more meaningful than noise: we connected in our humanity, in the spirit of recognizing so many problems but, more importantly, finding comfort in having a sincere conversation. We bolstered one another by connecting beyond what was wrong and tapping into what is needed from us individually and collectively to help make not only our world better but also the world better.
“You know who I think we are?” he asked.
“Who?” I was curious to know the thread of commonality he saw between two strangers whom any observer would think were an unlikely pair even to be talking.
“Servants.” His voice rose with confidence pressed by courage. “We’re God’s servants. Maybe His suffering servants, but His servants just the same.”
Despite the night, the darkness no longer felt so dark. Hard to explain, but I felt Jesus’ eyes upon us, and I could not help but smile. As the driver approached my house, I said, “I think God has given you and me a fresh touch. Who would have thought? In an Uber, no doubt.”
He stopped his car under the streetlight. For the first time, I could truly see him. He turned and faced me, a smile already on his face. “A fresh touch from God. I like that,” he said.
As I unlocked my door and heard him drive away, I could not help but think that Believers are here to worship God and reveal others to Jesus. And yet, tonight, Jesus revealed Himself to two strangers who needed the reminder that we are to continue to grow in the likeness of Christ, not this world. We are to do our best not to live in complaint but in thankfulness. We are called to position ourselves in selfless love, knowing the world is in short supply. And rather than fight against ourselves and others, each of us, at some level, can be of earthly good while being heavenly-minded.
Exhausted, I said a quick prayer before going to bed: God, thank You for how You show up in the darkness, from here to there. May we continue to move forward in faith and be obedient to Your will, even when we do not understand Your ways. Thank You, Lord, for the fresh touch only You can put upon our tests and testimonies. Our peace and praise rest in You alone. May we be carriers of Your grace and light. Amen.
This column was initially published by CherryRoad Media. ©Tiffany Kaye Chartier.
