Traveling Mercies

On March 12th, Thursday morning, my two friends and I woke up to an onslaught of texts and calls from friends and family informing us about the proclamation of a travel ban on Europe. In our groggy stupor, I rose from bed in shock. The birds chirped gaily as the morning sun filtered into our Vienna hostel window. 

We pulled up the news and found the world changed in one night's sleep. I took a breath of relief when I read that US citizens were exempt from the ban. We could still get home as of now.

In our groggy stupor, we weighed our options. The first option was to go home before the ban started that following day and buy an outrageous fee of a ticket. The second option: we could stay and continue our European trip that we had been saving up for and planning for months. We decided the latter and prayed for the best. 

We had just been in London and then Budapest. Vienna was our third stop on the journey. We were heading west and heard rumors about the borders of European countries closing soon. We were flying out of Heathrow in four days, so we decided to take the plunge knowing we at least had a ticket home. 

In the four countries (Hungary, Austria, Germany, UK) we visited, we shared smiles, stories, and drinks with people in each place and witnessed beautiful humanity. 

Speaking with Austrian shopkeepers, hearing their fears, how their kids were at home from school, not learning anything, how their beloved stores would be forced to close, how their country would be locked in a few days time, friends separated by borders. I could feel their pain and empathize with their concerns. I too had some of the same fears, and I knew that friends and family were dealing with the same issues back home. 

We left Austria, taking a bus to Germany. 

We left just as the sun was rising over the Austrian alps, boarding the bus with many others. The snow capped alps loomed ahead, tall and beautiful, unaware of the chaos below. Blue skies over the fields, over the farmhouses and chalets, which dotted the countryside. 

My friends and I were in a deep sleep when we felt the bus come to a jarring halt. Looking out the window with groggy eyes, I saw the German border and police surrounding our bus. 

They climbed aboard and asked us to get out and to bring our passports. Confused, I fumbled for my passport and followed the others out into the cold morning air as I pulled my coat closer. 

We stood single-file along the bus as the police walked down the line. I looked over at my friends, my expression a mixture of fear, confusion, and sleepiness. Their faces mirrored mine. Some of the fellow travelers were pulled aside, probably from countries where the virus was most prevalent. The ones pulled aside stood directly in front of us. I tried to make eye contact to smile but they held defiant, proud faces, looking out above, maybe looking at the alps behind us.  

The police were very kind and upon seeing our passports they asked, “Ah a girls trip?” We smiled and my friend chuckled, “Yes, but it seems to have taken a bit of a turn.” We asked them what was happening. They were checking to see if we had been to any majorly exposed countries before entering into Germany. 

We spoke with them, and I empathized with them and their own country. They shared that their borders were just days from closing as well. Uniforms and guns aside, these were just people doing their best in such a chaotic time. They too had families and loved ones they were trying to protect.

As we were cleared, we climbed back into the bus and waited for the others. Everyone was released, and we continued on our way, but we weren't the same. As I tried to fall back asleep, I couldn’t help but feel a mixture of confusion, disturbance, and simply sadness. 

After a brief stop in Munich, we flew to London. As we landed in Heathrow airport, we saw a sea of masks. Much more than just a week and a half ago in the same airport. What were the eyes saying behind the masks? Were they afraid? Hopeful? Was there perhaps a smile beneath? In hopeful ignorance, I prayed that they were smiling. I wore no mask, simply because mine had broke on the first day. 

In our quick 2 hour plane ride from Munich to London, there had been another ban announced. Once again, my phone blew up with texts from friends and family asking if I was able to make it home. The US was now closing borders with the UK and Ireland. Things were changing rapidly.

It was Sunday. The National Day of Prayer for all who were affected by the Coronavirus announced by President Trump.

We went to church in London and worshipped with fellow Christians. In times of great fear and uncertainty, sometimes all one can do is simply bow before God and ask for help.

Later that day, my friend and I went for a prayer walk throughout the city. Praying over the ground that our feet touched, praying for the continent of Europe, its leaders, its people, praying for the States, the whole world, for an overwhelming disruption of peace to come over, for a great healing, for hope in such an uncertain time. 

The sun set over the Thames and a spattering of rain drops fell on my umbrella. The lamp lights began to flicker on, and we felt a little hope fill our souls. 

We had a proper Sunday roast for dinner at a pub and spoke with the locals about the issue. Our waiter was anxious but we simply told him that everything will be ok. His face lit up, and he agreed that it would all be well. Sometimes you just need someone to look you in the eye and to tell you that things will be ok. 

I spoke French with a French family about the border closure and how they were feeling. In reaching out to many friends back in France, there’s a mixture of fear and apprehension but also peace. It’s truly a trying time for us all. In the pub, I also got a message from a friend hearing that Austria’s borders were closing, as I thought of the people I had met there only the day before. 

What can we do in such times? My friend had an idea. 

We went to a local Tesco (a London grocery store) and bought four different dinners. It was a conglomeration of waters, sandwiches, and cookies. We then prayed about who needed dinner that night. Sometimes when the world seems to be falling apart, it’s best to get your mind off your own situation and to divert your focus outwards. 

We walked around Winchester Abbey as night befell the city. Just us two American girls, we found people in the dark crevices of the streets, snuggled up in their tattered sleeping bags, hiding from the cold. We crouched by them. We looked in their eyes and handed them the meal, speaking out, “May God bless you.” I’ve never seen more beautiful smiles than the ones I saw emerge from those streets in London. 

We had one more dinner that we were going to give a man but just as we approached him, a woman walking by knelt down and handed him two sandwiches and some snacks. Humanity triumphs.

Now that this man had something to eat, we decided to wait and see who else may need some food. 

We felt like we were going to find someone that needed food on the tube. On the tube, faces flashed by us as we sped through the London underground. A woman walked into the adjacent car. She introduced herself. Her name was Sarah and she was without a home. She asked if anyone had anything to give. I looked over at my friend.

“Is she the one?” I asked.

My friend nodded and said, “Yup, she’s the one.”

As Sarah walked into our car I exclaimed, “We have your dinner Sarah!”

All of the eyes in the tube turned towards us as these loud American girls pulled out a bag of assorted food items. 

Her face lit up, a beautiful smile, and we showed her the wrapped cookies, sealed water, and wrapped sandwich - all coronavirus free. We blessed her in Jesus name. 

It wasn’t much that we did, but at least we knew she and our other friends on the street would at least have a full belly that night. Exposed to the cold, the virus, where would they go if they needed to be quarantined or if they were sick? 

As we changed district lines in the tube, we stood out on the platform. A tube raced by; the driver looked sad, tired. Maybe she was also afraid. 

I turned to my friend. 

“How about we wave and smile at the next driver who comes by?”

As the rumble of the next tube started approaching us, we waved profusely and smiled at the driver. As he pulled in, his face went from bored, to confused at the two Americans, to a smile from ear to ear as he waved back with joy.

It was a special moment, one that I won’t forget, a taste of humanity.

Machines and masks alike can dehumanize but we can’t let them keep us from reaching out in loving joy. We can social distance while still being kind, still being humane, still being others-focused, still being loving. 

Worldwide pandemics can either bring out the worst or the best in humanity. It can cause us to be self-centered or outward-focused. We can choose fear or love. 

Fear is often an automatic, subliminal default, so if one doesn’t see it as a choice, it simply happens to us. We have a choice to either retreat and succumb to fear or to embrace our common humanity, embrace our need for community and for each other. 

Choosing joy and gratitude doesn’t mean that one is ignorant or degrading the gravity of the issue. It simply shows that we can face difficult situations stronger and more courageously when it’s love and gratitude motivating us, not fear weighing us down. It’s not an easy decision to choose love and gratitude with so much fear of being without.  But as we do, we hopefully get to share an iota of God’s abundant, indefatigable peace with people from all nations. We too can experience how a smile, a kind word, a simple prayer is more unifying, more powerful than fear, that fear is cast out by perfect love. 

As I return to the states before the borders close, my hope and prayer is that we can be a world that can still love across closed borders, across oceans, across different nationalities, that we not let our fears keep us from seeing the eyes of our brothers and sisters behind the mask. 

words and photo by Abigail White