My favorite time in New York is typically sitting on the subway, watching other people, realizing how weird they are, and then thinking "Heavenly Father loves them just as much as He loves me."
I love people.
I love weirdos.
And I love the sweet small spirits among the rest.
During the middle of the day, the doors of the train open to a stream of strollers heading off... and another mass leading in. They're pushed by nannies who look nothing like the wee ones they nurture.
Today I was in a rush. I sat down and disregarded standard operating procedure. No iPod. No scripture reading. Just watching.
A Hispanic woman was listening to a chatty blonde toddler. The little girl then looked matter-of-factly at the gentlman sitting next to her and asked, "What's your name?"
"John. What's yours?"
"Ellie."
Ellie went on to have a long discussion about who-knows-what and in the midst sang Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. The woman sitting next to me exchanged a laugh.
"Very personable," I suggested.
It made me wonder.
How do we end up as we do?
Why were we all at one point as fearless as Ellie? And what happened that leaves us now sitting among strangers who could be friends?
How odd would it be had I been the one to ask John his name? Would he have responded as kindly as he did to Ellie? And why is it that we ignore the homeless who sing on the train but enjoy the sounds of a little girl getting the words wrong?
Why are we so comfortable in our solitude?
I imagine Heaven will be a little different.