May of last year was my first time visiting a hospice. We made it in time for my mother-in-law’s birthday but arrived in San Francisco in the evening and had to wait until the next day to see her. The next day, we brought out a birthday cake; her children all came to visit and sang a few songs. Mamang, as we lovingly call her, was in good spirits.
The next day, Mother’s Day, she went to be with the Lord peacefully and quietly in her sleep. The kind nurse and orderlies still thought she was sleeping and tried to wake her up, but she had gone to be with her Maker. These thoughts came back to me because of this article I read on a website, which featured testimony from a taxi driver.1
Because I drive the night shift, my cab often becomes a moving confessional. I encounter people whose lives amaze me; some ennoble me, others make me laugh, and sometimes make me weep. However, none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.
Responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of town, I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory in the industrial part of town.
When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground-floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, then drive away. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always go to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So, I walked to the door and knocked.
“Just a minute,” answered a frail, elderly voice. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her late 80s stood before me. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
“Would you carry my bag to the car?” she asked. I took the bag and then turned to assist her. She took my arm, and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
“It’s nothing,” I told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated.”
“Oh, you’re such a good boy,” she said.
When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”
“It’s not the shortest way,” I quickly answered.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.”
I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening.
“I don’t have any family left,” she continued. “The doctor says I don’t have very long.”
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
“What route would you like me to take?” I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She also had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
As the first hint of the sun creased the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were concerned and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching into her purse.
“Nothing,” I replied
“You have to make a living,” she answered.
“There are other passengers,” I responded, and almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
“You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said. “Thank you!”
I squeezed her hand and walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of a life closing. I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought.
What if that woman had gotten an angry driver or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run or had honked once, then driven away? I don’t think I’ve done anything more important in my life.
We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. However, great moments often catch us unaware – beautifully wrapped in what others may consider small, insignificant moments. Let us always be ready to share kindness with those God places in our path.
The Scriptures remind us: “Don’t forget to do good and share with those in need. These are the sacrifices that please God.” It’s good to always remember this.
(Francis Kong’s “Inspiring Excellence” podcast is now available on Spotify, Apple, Google, or other podcast streaming platforms).
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