So, Is he a thug? Are we safe?

Embarking on a train in Zagreb, Croatia, we were trying to find a seat... aha! A seat for two! As I open the door to the compartment, I look at our compartment-mate & I freeze.....

"Is he a thug? Are we safe?" Well, we are in the Lord's hands. This is the only spot open, so we place our luggage in the overhead racks & sit across from our new neighbor. I try to observe him as we get underway... brilliant red and white Puma tracksuit (obviously, screamingly new) with an enormous puma embroidered on it, shaved head, mean disposition - or was it just distant? Hard to tell from a face that has seen too much. Mafioso? No, he would have is own car, unless he is low on the totem pole. He looks over at me, I smile. His look freezes any confidence I tried to muster up. I look out the window at the landscape flowing by & start praying.

After a while, I am still thinking God wants us to communicate with a non-communicator tough guy. I don't know the language. I pray some more & look around the compartment, and then I saw "it"... a duffel bag. Ok, Lord, what's with the duffel bag? It is just a normal one like our boys (both currently deployed) have - that's it! It is camo! From what our friends in Europe have told us, camo isn't touted...  I recall a conversation I had with our son in Afghanistan & being on a NATO base - he & friends had fun going to the commissaries of the different countries & seeing what was for sale: French- pastries; German- weapons;  British - useful stuff ... anyway, he would say that the other units loved getting clothes at the Canadian commissary. Ah, so that is where the Puma tracksuit came from? Must have literally cost him a fortune. He's coming home after war in a modern tracksuit to treat himself. Is he wondering if anyone is left or will welcome him? How many changes will he need to adapt to? Ok, I have to know & maybe this is an in to let him know about Jesus caring for Him?

 I say, "Afghanistan?"  Our compartment-mate jumped as if shocked by electricity. I point to the duffel bag & say again, "Afghanistan?" He nods, cautiously, carefully, wary, sorrowfully - all in one move that is so slight unless you were looking, you wouldn't have seen it. I pull out my picture of our two sons in war right then  and I point to one & say, "Iraq" then to the other & say, "Afghanistan".  Then to both of them and to Kurt & I. He understands and the heavens opened! He smiled, nodding & you could almost hear him thinking, "Oh, someone knows & has an idea what I have been through!"  So the tough-guy outside is from one who has seen too much war, death.

We were getting close to our stop & as we stood up to look at what was coming up, our compartment-mate held out his hand to look at our tickets. He looked at us, & held up two fingers. Two more stops. I smiled and nodded & pointed up, put my hands together & pointed to him. He smiled, encouraged.  We even shook hands when it was time to get out.  God is  good - all the time!