Passing, Briefly

For the past couple of years, I have daily passed a man on a bicycle on the way to work.

I always see him in town, about a mile from where I turn off the main road and head to my office. On the right shoulder of the road, he wears a jacket and ball cap, and a small backpack is strapped across his shoulders. I have never clearly seen his face, though when I glance over at him or look in my rear-view mirror, I can tell that he is wearing glasses. I cannot tell whether they are for vision or for protection against bugs and other things that might harm his eyes. He looks to be in his thirties, and is slender, with brown hair.

I have no idea who this young man is, or where he works, or how far he pedals every morning to his destination. I have no rational reason for believing these things, but something about his presence suggests to me that he is a diligent soul, that he works very hard, that he has a quiet personality, and that he is a family man.

And for at least a year now, I have said a prayer for the bicyclist every time I pass him. As I near him, I lift one hand and usually whisper something like “Protect him, Father,” or “Bless him in his day, Father.” On the rare days when I don’t see the bicyclist, such as days with heavy or frozen precipitation, I wonder where he is, or if he got a ride in an automobile, or if he stayed home. I fret about him, worrying that one of the many texting drivers will veer over and end his life because sharing the latest funny cat video is more important than piloting thousands of pounds of metal and glass.

Sometimes in these quiet hours, I wonder what the bicyclist would say if he knew a stranger says a prayer for him every morning when briefly passing by. And I wonder if any stranger has ever prayed for me for no other reason than seeing me and feeling the nudge to do so. I like to think that someone, at some point, has done so. It is not for me to say whether or not I have been spared harm on a particular day because some unseen watcher lifted a hand and whispered some holy words on my behalf.

The night is here and the air is quiet. But there may remain some pray-ers awake and purposeful, thinking their glowing thoughts and speaking their chiming words. I like to think this is true.

~ S.K. Orr