Any Time Now

There are any number of things that can go wrong on a long journey; trekking about in foreign places seems to have a way of bringing out the occasions where stress, forgetfulness, and confusion coalesce into one menacing package. For David and I, one month into a three month honeymoon backpacking trip through Europe, those occasions haven't dampened our enthusiasm for our journey, but I'm uncertain that they're quite teaching us patience either.

Thursday was one such instance. After spending a day in Poland visiting Auschwitz and Krakow, we were at the end of an overnight train ride that would roll into Vienna about 6:45 a.m. The swaying, heaving motion had lulled me into a rather deep sleep despite the less than cushiony bunk beds and the fact that my husband had been booked in a separate sleeping car; the conductor unceremoniously shook me out of such peaceful slumber and announced that we would be arriving at the station in 25 minutes. Somewhere during my half-alert teeth-brushing, face-washing session, David popped in with my second, smaller backpack that he had been storing overnight, and I mumbled something unintelligible before he left--not knowing that it would be the last time we would see each other for quite awhile.

There was a brief, preliminary stop at Wien Miedling where I glanced out of our window into the semi-darkness to see if we had arrived, but almost as quickly the lurching, swaying motion began again, and with some commendable will power, I snapped my mountainous luggage into place on my back instead of drifting back to sleep. Moments later we reached the end of the line--Wien Westbahnhof--and I alighted without much grace and began searching the platform for David. A few minutes passed, all the passengers from our train flowed past in sleepy parade, probably collectively pulled along by the thought of coffee somewhere nearby, but my husband wasn't among them. Though I didn't think he would leave the platform and go into the train station without me, it seemed like the next best idea, so I walked inside and looked around the upper level near the entrance. No David.

I never went downstairs. If David were at the station, I was sure he would have been waiting for me where he knew I would see him; since he wasn't I had to assume he had accidentally taken the first stop. Shifting Mount McKinley on my back, I waddled my way over to the railing overlooking the escalators to the lower levels and stood for a while drinking in the sunrise through the eastern windows. Silhouetted against the pastel clouds was a cathedral tower, darkly elegant by contrast. It was picture perfect, and I started digging through the smaller backpack for my phone to catch the sight for future posterity and Instagram.

Right about then I discovered that David, having collected all our various electronic devices the night before to charge them, had packed them into the backpack he gave me. I had my phone, his phone, the iPod, and the iPad--leaving him with no method of accessing the Internet (our phones are inactive for the duration of our stay in Europe, but they are useful if one can find wifi). I took a picture of the quickly brightening sky gradually enveloping the cathedral.

(See photo here: http://instagram.com/p/QESwVYujOr/ )

It was 7:00. I picked up some free wifi, settled down on a bench near a power outlet, and fished out my ticket. Clearly printed after the arrow from "Krakow" was the station title "Wien Westbahnhof." With a sigh of relief, I noted that I had definitely taken the correct stop and that David had only to look at his ticket to recognize that he was at the wrong stop--and know where to find me. It was just a matter of waiting until he caught the next train in.

An hour later there was still no sign of my husband. I sent him a message on facebook detailing exactly where in the station I was so he would have no difficulty locating me when he arrived. I knew he would find a computer or borrow someone's phone or somehow find a method of contacting me to explain the delay. As time rolled by much slower than the trains breezing in and out, I sent a couple emails just to be on the safe side and plugged my phone into the outlet next to me to avoid running the battery down.

By 9:00 I was hungry, needed to find a restroom, and still missing my husband. Reattaching the luggage I'd removed for the couple hours I'd been sitting in the same spot, I walked a few yards to the InfoPoint across from my bench. Had they possibly heard from my husband or could they call around for him? While they announced his name over the intercom I struggled over to the nearest shop for an apple strudel, and came back. They said they would call the other station, and I spent the interlude dragging my Mt. McKinley up a couple flights of stairs to the ladies' restroom. When I returned there was news: The other station verified that David had been there, but they had sent him off with directions to arrive at my station.

This was encouraging, and naturally I expected him to walk in the door at any minute. I had no way of knowing my extended stay on the metal bench wasn't to end as quickly as I hoped, but I assured my concerned family back home that I wasn't stranded--I knew David would come find me any time now.

But no familiar faces appeared from the masses of people who came and went in the busy station. My seat mates on the hard, metal bench changed dozens of times and still I sat, waiting. I chatted with a few--a young woman designer from Brazil, a young Austrian soldier, a couple bored security guys patrolling the station-and most of them heard about my alleged husband who theoretically was going to come get me...sometime. And before long they would leave, and he still had not arrived.

It was nearing 12 o'clock. It had been more than 5 hours since I had last seen David, and for all I knew I could be waiting in the Vienna train station for days, sitting on the same bench, eating an occasional snack from the concessions nearby, and assuring everyone that my husband was going to come find me anytime now. By the time he did I would probably be speaking passable German and the security guards would have thrown me out half a dozen times.

Just before my plight actually became that serious, I looked up to see the most beautiful face I could imagine coming toward me from across the room. David grinned broadly and opened his arms wide in a triumphant gesture that I might have run toward if rapid movement were even mildly tolerated by my Mt. McKinley.

We excitedly began comparing stories to figure out what had happened. My version basically consisted of me sitting, not moving, waiting. As it turned out, so did his. He had taken the stop the conductor said was his, then immediately discovered I wasn't there. Borrowing someone's Facebook (it wouldn't let him sign in to his own) he sent me a message telling me where I could find him--and then he waited, patiently, for me to follow his directions. But I never came. At last, he had come to my train station and found me.

In some obscure folder with no alert sat his message: "Michelle, this is David. I got off at the wrong stop. I am at Wein Meidling; I am in the hallway between/under the platforms. I will not move. Please come find me. I love you." I'd never received it.

However, despite of hours of waiting, delays to our exploration of Vienna, and the inconveniences all that entailed, we were just happy. Relieved to be back together. And very ready to leave the train station.

The next day we were on a train again, rolling toward Croatia and watching the beautiful Austrian countryside unfold along the tracks. With so much time to think, I couldn't help but remember that another bride is waiting for her Groom to come get her. It's been such a long, long wait, yet through all the years that have passed, she insists He will come. Any time now. She watches the eastern sky, and she waits. He will come...any time now.

But He doesn't come, and she wonders why He delays. So she sits, and she waits. Maybe she's missed a message somewhere, where He asked her to do something other than sit still, but at least she waits--confident that He is coming soon. Any time now, they'll be reunited.

And when Christ has waited as long as He can for the church, at last He will come for her, right where she waits, so ready to leave this station. He will smile the most beautiful smile and open His arms wide, triumphantly, to greet her. Any time now, it will all be worth the wait.

Danger Or Rescue

A fat, little frog squatted on the asphalt, enjoying the summer night. There was nothing to disrupt his evening hop across the countryside except the occasional lowing of cattle grazing in the field on the other side of those odd, evenly spaced iron rails that dissected the asphalt trail the fat, little frog was traveling. It was such a peaceful evening that he almost forgot to break the stillness with croaking calls to other frogs that might be taking their evening jaunts.

From the distant lengths of the iron rails, a rattling rumble came tumbling into the fat little frog’s quiet evening. He held tightly to his spot on the asphalt as the rumbling intensified, and in a moment a massive, thunderous machine pounded past him, just 10 feet away, in an eternal procession. The vibrations reverberated in the poor creatures lungs, but couldn’t make the fat little frog quake any more than he already was from sheer fright. If he could think, he was probably wondering if he would live long enough to hatch a plan of escape from the monster machine.

Alas, his evening took a worse turn, if that were possible. Another metal machine with glaring, blinding lights in front was approaching on the asphalt, hissing as it ground to a stop. The fat, little frog blinked as a living creature many times his size left the machine and—horror of horrors—walked toward him. It seemed intent on driving him from his little refuge on the asphalt where he still had not concocted an escape plan, so, in desperation, he fled before the oncoming feet of the advancing creature.

As the fat, little frog disappeared into the grass on the side of the asphalt road, I watched the train blast off into the night; the cross arms blinked goodbye as I strolled back to the car. Listening to the croaking in the grass while I drove across the spot recently vacated by a particular fat, little frog as he had fled before my prodding, I could nearly have imagined his beady eyes bulging from the excitement of his recent escape as he regaled his fellow frogs with the tale of his night of terror.

It amused me that the fat, little frog couldn’t tell danger from rescue. For all he knew, I was just as dangerous as the thunderous train and the hissing, glaring car—in fact, I must have been more frightful, since he held his ground in the presence of those monsters. In his mind, he had narrowly escaped death; and he had. His frantic hopping away from those approaching feet took him out of the path of all the cars waiting to pile over the railroad tracks as soon as the train rumbled into the distance once again.

Some days I feel like thundering monsters are flying by, much too close for comfort; in every other direction it seems like other monsters hiss and glare, while, worst of all, mysterious feet advance, intent on driving me off the little plot of ground I still hold as my own. You know you’ve had those days too, when the obstacles just keep mounting to dizzying heights. Do you, like me, try to pull together some solution, only to find yourself running away from yet another terror?

The amusing part is…we can’t tell danger from rescue either. The most horrifying experiences, the most terrifying of obstacles, might be our safety net from something worse—but, in our finite vision, we never even recognize it. God stands near us, directing us out of the way of pain, difficulty, or sorrow, and our hearts pound with fright because His instrumentalities are lost on our perception. Later we squeak out the tale of our narrow escape from utter ruin and breathe a sigh of relief for having survived the day.

And I think He must smile a bit sadly knowing that the peace we lost through our fear was unnecessarily sacrificed. Another day He may let the terrors fly by us again as He tries to give us faith’s vision that can perceive the difference between danger and rescue.