A Red Light Glimpse of Eden

From time to time we have the opportunity to enter into living stories that give us a glimpse of our role in the larger drama of human history. I was invited into this kind of a story not too long ago. Stopped at a red light, I looked over to see whose life was idling next to me (as we often do). It’s one of the few places people actually stop long enough to look at each other these days. What I saw was a picture we’re usually too hurried or involved in our own lives to notice.

There in the car next to me was an older gentleman and a woman who looked to be his bride of many years—a seasoned couple who, if asked to chronicle their lives, would remember more time of being together than apart. When I stole my red-light glance at these two they were deep in laughter over something I will never know, and never have to know to be touched by it. I will always remember the image—the slightly upward tilt of the woman’s head, her teeth showing and eyes closed, the tendons in her neck taut with gladness; the man’s eyes wildly opened, looking directly at his joyous passenger, as if his own delight was fueled by hers. I like to think they were amused by the simple joy of being imperfect together. And even though I couldn’t hear them, it didn’t matter—the silence highlighted the picture all the more. These two jesters seemed to have weathered enough life together that their smiles and laughs were accepted with the same genuineness and thoughtfulness as their tears and trembles.

The red light gave way to green and they drove away, gone in an instant. I was left staring out my window trying my best to hold the moment and lock it into my memory. The abrupt honk of the car behind me jolted me back to reality. But I knew if the other cars had seen what I had they would understand the delay—at least I hoped they would. I stepped on the gas and drove off; comforted by my fresh encounter with beauty and by the half-smile that had emerged on my face.

Before I encountered the couple at the red light I had been lost in thought about my role in combating the social, spiritual and moral errors of society. But my red light glimpse brought a fresh perspective: If I could at some point in my life guide another person to a level of Truth or to some level of God’s grace and love by a laugh, a smile, or even a tear, I think I would be doing more of what I am designed to do than any spoken or written word could ever accomplish.

Reality is often not how we want it to be. It may not even be how we perceive it. I know nothing about the people in the car or what spurred their laughter. But perception is often the only reality available to us, and I am glad for the dose of reality I got that day. It’s good to be reminded of a hope of better things, more beautiful things. We must look outside ourselves, beyond our wanting to save the world all the time, and listen with our eyes to this divinely created place that can still give us glimpses of Eden. These glimpses have the potential to help us see that we, too, need some rescuing—the same kind we desire for everyone else.