prayer to the little train that could.

yesterday i drove from the great salt lake to south orange county in one solitary swoop. i stopped at mcdonalds, in n out, four gas stations, five restrooms, one alien jerky store, and contemplated stopping at the mad greek cafe because who doesnt want to dine surrounded by 494 statues of greek gods in a makeshift parthenon. you would think i was a family of six, not one solitary person. i listened to 2 cds the entire time and now have every single word memorized of michael jackson billie jean. i listened to 4 hours of talk radio and found out: barack obama is the devil incarnate, john mccain is the devil incarnate, barack obama kills babies, john mccain kills souls. all in all, a rockin experience.

although all of those things made the trip a real joy, perhaps my favorite moment was in the middle of a desert when the longest train i have ever seen passed by. the sun was setting, the mountains were looming, and a boxcar train chugged its way down the tracks as i drove by craning my neck to count. i lost count at 94. the number of boxcars is not important. what is important is that the chugging train, oblivious to its surroundings, going on with its business and gleaming in red yellow and blue, reminded me of how much i love trains. reminded me of when i found out my mom had cancer again, this time terminal, one of my friends bought me the book the little engine that could and told me i could do it. reminded me of at my moms funeral, when one of her best friends got up and said my mom was like the little engine that could, never giving up, always finding a way. reminded me of when one of my moms best friends bought us little glass trains and said to always remember that my mom never gave up. reminded me that even when obstacles arise and things get in our way, we are all little engines that could. we are all little trains in the desert. my mom never gave up. i will never give up.

whenever i see a train i am reminded of my moms dedication, her will to live, to never complain, to endure terminal cancer and endless pain with dignity and grace. yesterday, watching the long train run its track through the desert, one of hte most beautiful sights i have seen in a long time, i felt the little engine that could inside of me and i knew that no matter what life brings, and no matter how looming the mountains look, i can do it. and i will do it. and so will you my friends. so will you.

prayer to lovely people with beating hearts.

so i left dc and my wallet got stolen in the airport and i had 2 layovers until i got back to good ol salt lake city to see the boy i kind of like. i was in such a bootleg mood because who steals someones wallet and i had gotten 2 hours of sleep and i was reading breaking dawn, the latest in the twilight series, and it was giving me a headache. addicted to the pain. anyway, so im sitting in my middle seat on the airplane lamenting my awful station in life and complaining in my head when our plane lands. i look a mess. bags under my eyes. frazzled hair. awkward fitting jeans. airplane sick stomach. complaining heart. then a very large, greyhaired man in front of me turns around. kind eyes. i love kind eyes.

"maam?" he asks me. "are you the one that lost your wallet?" im still annoyed at this point and don't reply in the most chipper of tones. "yes," i reply. he proceeds to tell me about when his wallet got stolen at the gym and how annoying it was, and im still tuning him out because complaining in my head feels like a much more important activity. then he asks me if need money. "no sir, thank you, i'll be ok." im still in a bootleg mood. to which he replies, "no, youre going to need something to eat." and pulls out a 20 and slips it to me. the best part is what he says: "to remind you there are still more good people in the world than bad." then walks away, like a money distributing airplane frequenting santa clause.

thank you large greyhaired man with kind eyes, for reminding me how beautiful the world is, and how much one small act of service can mean. thank you large greyhaired man wtih kind eyes, for reminding me that life is not about what you get, or what happens to you, or how hard your life is, but about how much you give. thank you large greyhaired man with kind eyes, for not thinking twice about giving me 20 dollars, for realizing that the hope you gave me in humanity that day far outweighed whatever he could buy with that 20 dollars. thank you large greyhaired man with kind eyes, for teaching me that service is every day, every hour, and that there are bad people in the world, but there will always be more good than bad. thank you large grey haired man with kind eyes, im working on becoming like you.