August 11, 2014 by vh1161
He was in his fifties and sat in a three-wheel electric scooter at the front end of the lead train car. The black basket on the front of the scooter held a travel mug and the daily Metro paper, unread. He was smartly dressed and wore a wedding band. An ID badge around his neck indicated government (or contractor?) employment. He sat askew, angled so that he could look to his left and observe the other passengers on the train, or look to his right out the driver’s window, as if making sure the driver was alright and the train was on course.
Cerebral palsy? Something about the hands. The hands that clutched a rosary and in their stilted way caressed each bead, his head swaying gently with the rhythm of each prayer he whispered. He tried to focus so that his fervency overruled his uncooperative body and wandering mind. Our Metro priest, scanning our faces for needs to collect in his contracted hands and deliver into 59 beads.
Our Father, who art in heaven,
I can never be a father
hallowed be Thy name.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done
Will my hands work in heaven?
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day
our daily bread,
I have a job
and forgive us our trespasses
I yelled at my wife this morning
as we forgive
How do we forgive –
those who trespass against us.
the men chasing children into the mountains?
And lead us not into temptation,
Jesus – My mind goes where my feet can’t
but deliver us
Lead the children –
Lead the children over the mountains.