That’s what the train said. It was early this morning. On my way down Cumberland to have breakfast and prepare for the day ahead, I heard the sound of an oncoming train. Just before I reached the crossing, lights flashing red, the barricade dropped, blocking my path. One, two, three, four engines headed up the slowly moving freight train.
This is gonna be a while I thought. What to do? I started counting the cars but soon lost count. I began trying to read the sides as one by one the graffiti embellished cars rolled past. Were these graphic displays the work of gangs, an attempt to create art, or something else? Then it caught my eye. Amidst the graffiti on the side of the boxcar I could clearly make out, “Prom? Yes”.
I understood that. A question. From whom? Was the yes an answer or was it a hoped for response? I thought, “Why, in this age of seemingly unlimited means of wireless communication was the side of a box car used?”
We are told that the amount of information competing for our attention has doubled in ten years to something like 35 GB of data. We are not built to process that much and the overload takes a toll on us. If we are going to pay attention then the communicator better do something special!
Golden skies, billowing clouds, autumn leaves, soft new fallen snow, the tiniest peep of a newborn chick, the cry of our own new baby, the anguished cry of His Son dying for all of us. No one would or could have done more to get our attention. Are we listening?