Uber rides and unexpected God moments in the midst of my introversion.

I recently grabbed an Uber from my hotel back to the airport after a work trip. It was a 45-minute drive, and I entered the vehicle with my headphones at the ready. I cannot bring myself to click the setting in the Uber app that allows you to say you’d “rather not talk” because…well…I’m deeply midwestern, and that just seems rude. The next best option is to wear the big over-ear Bose-type headphones, which are so obvious to an observer that it would indicate I cannot hear them, so conversation should not ensue.

Does that sound just awful? Probably. I just struggle with small talk. Add on fatigue or if my social battery is already on empty, as was the case on this day, and small talk equates to fingernails on a chalkboard for me. Super dramatic, I know.

As I slid into the backseat of this ride I was immediately struck by something. Smell. Animal smell. A combination of 3 or 4 or maybe even 34 dogs that have spent a TON of time in this car mingling with the fact that I think they also brought their feline friend who forgot to pee before she left the house, and decided this car resembled her litter box just enough to allow her to feel free to use it as one.

Remember I said this was a 45 minute ride. Not 5 minutes or even 15 but three quarters of an hour that I would be trapped in this rolling pet hotel. I almost bailed but again…midwestern. I was unable to say what I wanted which was, “sorry, I have a deep fear of the odors in this car becoming trapped in my hair and clothes and of the person next to me on my upcoming flight writing his/her own blog about the person who sat next to them on the plane that obviously has no hygiene…and many pets.”

Since I was frozen in shock, I reached for the seat belt, waved away the wisps of dog hair that wafted past my face as I clicked it in place, and went to put on my headphones.

And then it started.

The talking.

It was so quick that I had no opportunity to wrap those headphones over my head in the most obvious, “I’m not your convo girl” way.

I was in this. It was happening.

She started in on the weather, the unusual cold they were receiving, and seamlessly slid into tales of her shoulder injury that ended a softball career that I didn’t ask about or need to know about. I desperately peered out the window and noticed us driving past the ” Welcome to the Hotel ” sign. We were 5 subjects in and JUST LEAVING THE HOTEL SPACE.

My throat was tightening…maybe due to dander, maybe due to social panic. Either way, it felt like the kind of sheer terror I see when people on TV shows get trapped in an elevator, and someone has to poop. Sweat rolling down my neck.

And then she said it.

Something that was a political minefield that we shouldn’t address, even if we did agree, but on this topic, we did NOT agree. So then I was thinking, “wonderful. It’s smelly, she’s talkative, AND I get to listen to a whole lotta garbage for 45 minutes.” I’m also angry because Jason leaves 4 hours later from this same hotel, and I can already predict that he will get into one of those rides with the leather air freshener, a bottle of water waiting, and any phone charger needed, at his fingertips. He’s probably also brave enough to have clicked the “would prefer not to talk” button. This entire thing has become his fault. There is no pertinence to this part of the story; I just think he should know.

She pivots from controversy and tells me about her days as a postal service worker and how she quit because someone asked her to write on someone’s mail and don’t they know that that is AN ACTUAL FELONY?! But because of that quiting she started driving for Uber. I am half listening but then she said this…

“Which has been a huge blessing because it’s allowed me to collect almost 400 children.”

I’m sorry, what?

I’m back to listening 100%.

Collecting children…this sounds very Silence of the Lambs, and for the first time, my irritation switches to a slight fear that I’m about to be handed some lotion so I can become her next skin suit.

“Ummmm…what do you mean, COLLECT 400 children?”

“Well, I’ve given about 400 rides to people who I keep praying for long after they leave my car. I don’t have any kids of my own, so I pray for these people like they are my kids.”

Smells no longer noted, fear no longer present, introversion aside.

“Tell me more.” I ask her with genuine interest.

She immediately tells me about the girl who was upset about her sick mom, the business man worried about his job and her best friend, who refuses to let her drive her for free but who needs rides because she has a seizure disorder. She went on and on about all of these people who had riden in her car and that every single time she heard what they needed prayer for, she would flip her sun shade out of the way, tell them she was “talking to the boss” and begin out loud praying for them, their concerns, their worries, their afflictions.

I asked if she ever got to hear if her prayers worked– did any of them follow up with her later?

She looked in the rear view mirror as if I was the dumbest passenger she had ever driven.

“I don’t need them to tell me. I know He heard me and I know He walked with them. I kept praying long after they left my car and so far, I’ve done that 398 times. Do you want me to pray for you?”

“Absolutely, I do.”

She said, “Done.” The sun shade flipped up, she knocked on the window, and prayed for me in a way that was so unexpected that it brought tears to my eyes. I asked if she would like me to pray for her as well. She said she never turns down that request.

We reached the airport in what seemed like 10 minutes. I thanked her again, existed the car and couldn’t believe that I almost missed that opportunity. First from judgment and second from a pre-conceived notion after a single comment about a topic that never came up again. Remember when I said I was going to have to listen to “45 minutes of garbage…” yeahhh, God enters stage left to remind me to stop thinking I know everything everyone thinks based on one sentence or one post.

This alone could have been enough for this blog post but as God does, He wanted to show off a little on this day.

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I didn’t have a car waiting at the arrival airport when I landed, so I opened the Uber app again, and a car pulled up to drive me home. Despite the positive turn of my last ride, I will admit that I was pleased when I got into the backseat of the cleanest, best-smelling car I’ve ever ridden in, and a bottle of water was waiting for me. The driver silently smiled at me and very clearly didn’t want to chat with me about his softball injuries, his job, or anything for that matter. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and thought…” This 45-minute drive is going to be very different from the last one,” and even though it had turned out to be a really good one, I could admit that I took a deep breath, sank into the cozy seats, and relaxed into the ride.

About 10 minutes in I started noticing the radio. I noticed it was spanish speaking music. I’ve been on a Duolingo quest for over 1100 days — learning Spanish. At this point, I can talk about your green skirt and my desire to paint my bedroom blue in very skilled ways. 🙂 Anytime I hear someone speaking spanish in person or on TV, I challenge myself to try to pick up on as many words as I can. I have a long way to go, as I recently tried out my skills at the Taqueria and they laughed hysterically at me…I have no idea what I said that was so funny, but it was a humbling realization that I need a few thousand more days on the app before I try that again.

Anyway, I suddenly noticed that the song was one of my favorite Christian songs… “What A Beautiful Name” by Hillsong.

What a beautiful name it is
What a beautiful name it is
The name of Jesus Christ my King
What a beautiful name it is
Nothing compares to this
What a beautiful name it is
The name of Jesus.

BUT…it was in spanish so it sounded like this…

Cuán hermoso su nombre es
Cuán hermoso su nombre es
El nombre de Jesús mi Rey
Cuán hermoso su nombre es
Nada se iguala a Él
Cuán hermoso su nombre es
No hay otro nombre 

Don’t be impressed, I had to google that.

And for the second time that day, I was crying in a dang Uber.

And, despite everything in me that usually would tell me to enjoy the quiet of this ride, I said…

“That song is beautiful in Spanish.”

And he looked in the rear view mirror and smiled and said… “Are you a Christian?” and I said a very quick “Yes, and I assume you are as well?”

And in a way that was so simple and lovely that it made me laugh out loud, he said…”Oh, yes, I love Jesus.” What an awesome way to answer that question.

After I told him that I was working to learn his language he spent the next 30 minutes quizzing me in Spanish–he would ask a question entirely in Spanish and if I couldn’t understand, he would replace a few words in English to help me, and then if I tried to answer in English, he would say, “No, say it in Spanish so I can help you learn.” (Ahem, men at Taqueria, take note.)

I learned about his kids and family and how he moved here from Cuba and brought his entire family and how he was the only one who became a Christian at the time and then one by one they all became Christians and how much faith means to all of them now. He told me about his church and why he drives for Uber, and that his favorite restaurant is Chipotle, and we both agree that their guacamole and the way they salt their chips is unmatched.

So here’s the thing…Two Uber rides that I planned for quiet rest ended up being incredibly Holy moments. They both made me feel so connected to absolute strangers. And it made me think about how much is disconnected right now… or at least there are a lot of people who want us to think everything is broken and disconnected. Or, even more diabolical, there are those who probably need us to remain so divided to fuel the narratives they want to push. I’ve heard it said so many times that 80% of us probably agree on most things, but the 20% are so obnoxiously loud on both sides that we can’t realize it.

But in those two rides, I was reminded that the opening line of the Lord’s Prayer starts with the phrase OUR Father.

OURS.

Not mine, not theirs, but OURS. He belongs to all of us and vice versa.

And we can be disconnected and in opposition of every single controversial topic out there, but we are united in the most important one. We are children, everyone of us, of an Almighty God.

And I think sometimes I forget that. I forget that the people who say things online that made me roll my eyes or make me annoyed are His as much as I am. That He created them and me in the most divine love, a love none of us deserve and a love that takes me to my knees if I really let myself think about the enormity of it. And maybe if I remember that, I’ll roll my eyes a little less, or get annoyed a little more slowly–or probably even better, just stay off of social media a lot more.

I’m not promising I’ll become a super social Uber passenger from now on…I’m wired with an introverted bend, I can’t alter that need for quiet completely. That being said, I’ll try hard to remember the things I learned that day, in a smelly car with someone so connected to her Lord that it was enviable, and in a pristine car with someone who took the time to share his faith as well as his language with me. It was a Holy Day indeed.

On a lighter note, when I got out of his car at my house, my second driver made me give him directions to the nearest Chipotle in Spanish—— I’ve worried about where he ended up ever since. But then again, I appreciate the trust. The guys at the Taqueria would never. 🙂