Summer, 2001. Piccadilly Circus, London, England.
It is interesting how we move through our dash. Millions of moments coming and going without significance, yet others have the magnitude to change the course of our lives. Or, at least, impact us in a way that causes us to take intentional action at some future point.
For me, a moment of notable importance came during a casual walk to dinner.
I was a college student studying abroad with the world at my fingertips and a suitcase full of independence and adventure. My final semester was approaching and I felt as if anything was possible post-graduation. I was in control of my destiny. It was the second time I had been outside of my home country and the first time I had lived in a “big city”. The culture, scene and organic flow of traffic and humans was very different from anything I had known. The streets were alive, pulsing with constant motion. People were moving with purpose, driven to be, do and have more abundance in every way. Life was happening for them and the expectation was high. Walking down the sidewalk of a bustling street scene was like falling into a river and being carried down stream… twisting, turning, avoiding obstacles, changing speed, enjoying the scenery and taking notice of random things that catch your eye and trusting that you’ll stay afloat.
As my other three flat-mates giggled and gossiped, walking a few steps ahead, I followed behind to take it all in. I didn’t want to miss recording one detail in my journal later that evening. The skyline, old architectural details and building materials, solid and sturdy and timeless, clothing, food vendors, tourist spots, and hoards of interesting people. I found myself wondering where they came from and where they were going, what their story was and who they really were. I remember feeling so alive and blessed to have several more weeks left in this experience.
My eyes were drawn to the line of humans sitting on the sidewalk as if they had been asked to support the building with their bags and backs and bewildered spirits. And then it happened. Like a perfectly synchronized dance, his eyes turned upward and locked in with mine as if he had been expecting me at that very moment in time. I felt the corners of my mouth turn up into a smile and joy fill my heart as he gazed at me with his crystal blue eyes peeking out from his unkept long silver hair and beard. It felt so surreal and I wondered what it was that made my heart stir the way it did. Was he really there or was he an angel meant for only me to see? I decided that I would save the majority of my meal and, if he was still sitting there on our walk home, I would give it to that man.
My thoughts kept turning to him throughout dinner and I was secretly praying we would meet again. I convinced the girls that we should walk home rather than hopping on the Tube for a faster after dinner commute. No one knew what I was secretly planning and I was thrilled when they obliged my request.
In perfect timing, I had a deja-vous-like experience as his eyes turned up to greet me once again. This time I approached him with a smile and handed him the take-out box of food. He smiled and nodded as he took the gift from my hands, no words required. Everything we needed to say in that moment was spoken with our hearts.
Over the next couple of months, he and I had similar exchanges over and over again. Each time, he was silent, speaking only with his eyes, his smile and a gracious head nod. Never words and I wondered if there was an impairment or an invisible language barrier standing between us. Strangely enough, I can only remember his face and his hands. All of the other details have since faded into a blur. Except the feeling in my heart.
I remember thinking of him often during my time in London… wondering who he was, how he got there, where he had been, the stories he could tell, the dreams in his heart, what he would want people to know about him given the opportunity to use his voice. What kind of life would he choose to create? Where was his family? Did he know love?
Little did I know, a tiny seed was planted that summer that would slowly emerge from the depths of my soul decades later. I had to continue on my journey and gain life experience before I could begin to know what, why, how, when and where to carry forward the gift of that exchange many summers before. I had to know the glorious highs and dark and lonely lows. To know great joy and unimaginable heartbreak. To win big and to lose even bigger. To give when I had more than I needed. To receive when I didn’t feel worthy.
I am grateful that, in a place known for lavish excess, my heart was captured by the less fortunate and one man in particular who gifted me far greater than the meals I provided him with. The love and light of God flowed through him and began a great work in me.
I am grateful for the carefully chosen and assigned gifts God has blessed me with. Although I knew of them all along, until recently I didn’t know how to use them for a purpose beyond myself. I am, undoubtedly, here to serve, to show up so that others may be seen, to use my voice so that others may be heard, to create connections so that others will know love and compassion, to do the hard things that will inspire others to take action and to capture and share the dynamic beauty of humanity and this world in a way that will catch the eyes and hearts of others as they also float down the river of life.
And here we are.
The Wanderers Project has been born. I invite you to share this journey with me.
With love, gratitude and blessings,
Rachel
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