by Sanctified Brother
The trains in New York City are quiet at night. The people are even quieter. The City that Never Sleeps knows enough to take an occasional chill out to recover from the harried pace of the hustle that must be resumed in the morning. Gotta meet the man, after all. It’s the New York Hustle.
It’s funny what happens on the night train when you make unintentional eye contact with the nameless crazies sitting across from you. It makes you vulnerable to their surreptitious attention. What are they staring at? Who…? And why? Do they want to hear you ramble on about Jesus? Or how you resisted some fleshly temptation?
“They cut my check.”
Aww, come on. Dude’s supposed to be quiet. Like everybody else in here. Not bothering anybody.
“They cut my check. Child support. How’m I s’posed to put bread on my table now?”
He’s old hat. Can’t hang. Probably hasn’t been around too many black folk in church before. I know many old sisters who don’t have a man or an education and got their children into law school with some hand-me-downs and out with diplomas and jobs. Man up, brother. You need some experiential faith, that’s all.
Everyone’s quieter now that the fellow broke all our silence.
He’s looking at me. I’d better start brain searching for a memorized scripture. Looks like I’m going to have to do a little sermonizing tonight…