It was like driving through a sea of black ink.
The trip back to our hotel from the Lamar Valley was harrowing. It being Yellowstone, the specter of animals hanging out on the road is always a possibility. We’d reveled in the wildlife of the North American Serengeti, but now the sun was gone and darkness blanketed the winding way home. My knuckles were white on the steering wheel and Kim’s clear anxiety was less than helpful.
We snaked around curve after curve, my eyes peeled for any signs of movement. Then we saw it: a small coyote trotting down the middle of the road. As we came upon him, I slowed to a stop. He turned his head and stood frozen in the bright beam of our headlights. Time stood still. He looked at us and we looked at him, and for a brief moment, we connected.
Kim snuck a quick photo before he turned away and disappeared into the darkness.
It felt like we encountered a ghost in the road.
Sometimes we encounter people in a similar way. Their life intersects with ours and we make a brief connection. They show up to guide us through difficulty, supporting us emotionally, physically, or spiritually. When the time to move on comes, they disappear from our lives, like a ghost in the road
Have you had encounters like that, a limited interaction with someone that greatly impacted your life?
Years ago, I had lunch with Phil Vischer, the co-creator of Veggie Tales. I was trying to get my Kim & Jason comic strip off the ground. He gave me a lot of great advice, but one of the most notable things he said was, “Assume that your life two years from now will be nothing like you imagine it will be. Be open to where God is leading. If God calls you or Kim to a different role or a different job, be open.”
His advice left me unsettled, but it stuck with me.
Around that same time, Kim and I encountered a woman named Mary Jo who worked for a local Catholic Church. She told us about a growing movement within the Church to educate children and adults together and assured us that if I could create a program that held the attention and spoke to both groups, I’d definitely be in demand as a speaker. She was right, and that’s how my now twenty-year career as a professional speaker began.
It required me to retire the comic strip, but Phil Vischer’s prophetic words helped give me an open heart and comfort when I saw God lead us in a new direction.
It’s been said that people are in our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Phil and Mary Jo are people who came into my life for a reason. They were fellow travelers who crossed my path, and for a brief moment in time, our souls connected. In their own way, they illuminated my path, let me know that I was seen, that what I was doing mattered, and to keep going.
We are called to do that for others.
I’ll never forget a time I was a ghost in someone else’s road.
Waiting for everyone else to leave, she appeared at my product table at the back of the room after my second and final presentation of the day. She seemed hesitant, engaged in an internal debate on whether to approach or retreat. I noticed from her badge that her name was Jennifer. I assumed she was trying to decide if she wanted to buy something. Instead, she hesitantly exclaimed, “I want to trade you something, but I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”
“I won’t think you’re crazy,” I promised, not knowing what I was in for.
Apparently I was convincing enough, as she began digging around in her purse. She pulled out a small black velvet box and placed it on the table between us. She said not a word. Perplexed, I determined that it looked like a ring box and deduced that her silence meant that I was supposed to pick it up. I opened it. I was right there were two simple rings inside, one band was rimmed across the top with a row of tiny diamonds; the other was shiny and plain.
They were wedding rings.
“Ok…” I stumbled. “It looks like there is a story here…”
She began, “Six months ago today, my husband left me while I was at work.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She offered no further details, but it was clear that it was as surprising as it was devastating. She continued, “After he left, on a whim, I decided to apply for my dream job, the one I never went for while we were together. And I got it. And it was amazing.”
She began sobbing, and it suddenly felt that the table between us was two miles wide. She apologized for breaking down, while I debated jumping across the table to hug her right then and there.
She regained her composure and said, “Sitting in your two sessions today…you just said so many things that hit me. For a long time, I had given up on love. I had given up on me. I told myself that this job — my career — was my new love now and that this would be the focus of my life. But you helped me to see that I can’t give up on love.”
She motioned to the rings, and, looking at the last Adultitis First Aid Kit I had left, said, “If you’d be willing, I’d like to trade these for a new beginning. I don’t need them anymore.”
I gave her a Kit and a big hug and mumbled something that I don’t remember but was probably stupid.
I don’t remember what I said that struck a chord. I don’t know whatever came of her, although it’s possible she’s still following our stuff all these years later.
I was a ghost in the road of her story and she was a ghost in the road of mine.
Something I said to her on that day helped her to see with new eyes and gave her the confidence to bravely move forward. Meanwhile, Jennifer’s courage and her gift serve as an everlasting reminder of the privilege of what I get to do. When I get discouraged that the crowd I’m speaking to is too small, or not engaged enough, or that I am too tired, I think of Jennifer, a ghost in the road who crossed my path so many years ago, and I am reminded that every single day is an opportunity to change someone’s world.
Never underestimate your role in helping to heal our world. As it has been said many times, “Helping one person might not change the world, but it could change the world for one person.”
I hope this reflection opens your eyes and gives you an appreciation for the ghosts in your own road.
And I hope it will inspire you to be a fellow traveler who crosses someone else’s, taking the time to look them in the eye and say, “I see you. You matter. You’re doing great. Keep going.”
A version of this article first appeared at EscapeAdulthood.com.
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