Where Are You Headed, Honey?

Hope is the destination that we seek.Love is the road that leads to hope.
Courage is the motor that drives us.We travel out of darkness into faith

Duane MacRoy had been a drifter from the time he was old enough to fend for himself. Like many drifters, he had never stayed in one place for more than a few months before deciding that he would be happier somewhere else.
Tonight, he imagined himself relaxing on a sunny Pacific beach. He could feel the hot sand between his toes as the salty ocean winds swept the last bit of discontent from his soul. At last, he would build a permanent home and find lasting happiness.

It all began when he arrived at Union Station. It was 8 p.m. when he checked his bags and sat down to wait for the Lightning Express which would take him from Kansas City to Los Angeles. However, the baggage clerk announced that the train had been delayed for six hours in Chicago. It was not expected to arrive in Kansas City until 3 a.m.

One photo in particular made Duane's heart skip a beat. A woman sat on the front bench with a small boy who was dressed in a pinstripe suit and Sunday hat. Duane's mind raced back to the age of five when his mother and he sat in that same bench, waiting to board the train for Los Angeles.

Travelers, he decided, had not changed except for their style of clothing. Dissatisfied with the moment, they shifted their feet nervously, paged absent-mindedly through magazines, and longed for a new destination.

Duane was captivated by the old photographs. He reflected on the incredible brevity of the human lifespan. Here had been a bustling station filled with travelers—many old folks and children in the 1920s—beautiful people full of life, love, and the desire to be happy. Very few of them would still be alive.

They were just waiting… waiting to find something more… waiting to get on with the trip.
"We always do," he said to himself, "get on with the trip. Life moves on like a speeding train, replacing those of us traveling today with travelers of tomorrow." He wondered if travelers would look just as impatient to get out of town eighty years from now, or if human nature would finally change like clothing styles and transportation.

He had seen how life's passengers wish away their hours instead of enjoying the thrilling journey—how they cling to regret as though it were heavy carry-on luggage. Duane pondered all these things, but he did not understand. He wondered where the ultimate destination of life could be found.

Why was he running again? Why would somewhere else be any better—this time?
He had drifted his way though life, escaping any lasting commitments and responsibilities, but he had never been able to run away from himself. His mind whirled with questions about his destination.

The train sped across Kansas and through the Rocky Mountains of Colorado before winding south into New Mexico. During the second night, it had reached the Mojave Desert of California.
Duane was exhausted. Sleeping intermittently, he dreamt of the woman and the small boy in the photo at Union Station. They greeted him, walking along a sandy beach. The woman handed him a golden key.
He awoke to the lonely brooding cry of the train's whistle. It only seemed to intensify the pain of his existence. He got up and stumbled down to the snack car for some coffee. Glancing nervously at his watch, he staggered back down the swaying isle and collapsed into his seat. After two sips of coffee, he dozed off.


It was then that he noticed the elderly woman across the isle, peacefully holding her grandson. She winked at Duane and smiled as she softly stroked the child's dark, curly hair.
"Where are you headed, Honey?" she asked, reaching across the isle to wipe a drop of splattered coffee from Duane's jacket.
Suddenly, something inside Duane's mind snapped awake.

He finally knew the answer to a question that had played beneath his awareness since he first left home many years ago. The answer had been locked inside his restless heart all along.
Reaching into his jacket, Duane returned the elderly woman's smile through his tears.
"Right here," was all he said, handing her a candy bar to give to the little boy.
The elderly woman's eyes lit up like the morning sun, and she nodded as if she knew.
"Me too!" she replied.