OT: Inspirational Story

[Guest guest]

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life, alife for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that itwas also a " ministry, "

Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional.

Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told meabout their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobledme, made me laugh and weep. But none touched me more than a woman Ipicked up late one August night. I was responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet partof town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers, or someonewho had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an earlyshift at some factory for the industrial part of town.

When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a singlelight in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many driverswould just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away.

But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis astheir only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled ofdanger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs myassistance, I reasoned to myself.

So I walked to the door and knocked. " Just a minute, " answered a frail,elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80s stoodbefore me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered withsheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils onthe counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photosand glassware.

" Would you carry my bag out to the car? " she said. I took the suitcaseto the cab, then returned to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thankingme for my kindness.

" It's nothing, " I told her. " I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated " . " Oh, you're such a good boy " , she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, " Could youdrive through downtown? "

" It's not the shortest way, " I answered quickly. " Oh, I don't mind, " she said. " I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to ahospice. "

I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. " I don't have any family left, " she continued. " The doctor says I don'thave very long. "

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. " What route would youlike me to take? " I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me thebuilding where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drovethrough the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of afurniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gonedancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow down in front of a particular building orcorner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, " I'm tired. Let's go now. "

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a lowbuilding, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passedunder a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They weresolicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have beenexpecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The womanwas already seated in a wheelchair. " How much do I owe you? " she asked, reaching into her purse. " Nothing, " I said.

" You have to make a living, " she answered. " There are other passengers, " I responded. Almost without thinking, Ibent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

" You gave an old woman a little moment of joy, " she said. " Thank you. " I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me,a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lostin thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk.

What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatientto end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honkedonce, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that ourlives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifullywrapped in what others may consider a small one. PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT 'YOU DID, OR WHAT

YOU SAID, ~BUT ~ THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

" Anything less than mad, passionate, extraordinary love is a waste of time.There are too many mediocre things in life and love shouldn't be one of them. "

[Guest guest]

that was an awsome story..thank you for sharing that with us.

~~~Tami~~~