I hadn’t been on a Greyhound bus in 20 years. As I sat in that bleak Chicago bus station in January at midnight — among drug dealers, weary travelers and squalling children — I found myself hoping that it would be at least another 20 years before I had to climb on one of those lurching buses with strangers.

Paul Walsh / Living Stones News Mary Beth Frost

It had been a long, lonely journey, and the crowd I was traveling with made me feel cautious — withdrawn. I gathered my bags closely around me and reached for my notes and pen, preparing to work on my writing during the two-hour layover.

I tried to shut out the chaos around me, and I prayed that God would send someone my way — someone I could trust enough to watch my luggage while I used the bathroom. Those were my self-centered thoughts and prayers that night. But God had much more in mind for me.

I barely noticed her at first. I glanced over to see a young, leggy, bleached-blonde woman seated near me. With her hair in a ponytail, no make-up and toting a gigantic pink duffel bag, she looked like she was on her way to an aerobics class. But soon I was engrossed in my writing, and I forgot about her.

“Hi! What are you working on?” she asked brightly.

Startled, I sighed inwardly. I had met my share of eccentric people since I had boarded the bus at 8 that morning. A lady behind me had talked to herself nonstop for four hours. A man had stared at me, expressionless, for endless hours. I had ended up sandwiched between one guy who was reading a book about spying and hacking and claimed to be an ordained preacher, and another who claimed to be a genius who could see the germs in water and who had invented a new flavor for Mountain Dew.         

Needless to say, I had given up on socializing. 

But as I met her friendly gaze, I decided to at least be polite. I explained briefly that I was a writer, working on an article.

“What is your article about?” she pressed.

Surprised by her interest, some kind of distant spiritual bell clanged inside of me as I explained that I was writing an article about a rescue mission and telling the stories of the staff members. 

Did I mention Jesus? No, I think I only told her that most of the staff members had recovered from drug and alcohol abuse.

She listened politely, the stewardess-type friendliness never fading. But I saw no flicker of recognition that occurs when two believers meet, and I swallowed my disappointment.

I put my pen down as we continued to talk, and Keriann began to tell me enthusiastically about her great job. She had traveled the United States for a year, enjoying success in marketing and sales. She told me about other businesses she had started over the years. She was bold, talented, fearless. How I envied that. It made my life seem dull and small.

But as her story unfolded, and I asked careful questions about her family, I saw my first glimpse of the pain beneath her confident, bright surface. Sometimes she forgot the careful smile. A huge chasm of pain and disappointment gradually opened before me as she quietly, soberly poured out her story.    

There was no self-pity in her as she matter-of-factly told me about a childhood with little love. A stepfather who had abused her. Her search for her biological father who had abandoned her as a child. His rejection of her again as a teenager. A pregnancy at 15. An abusive boyfriend. Her struggle as a 16-year-old single parent. Her marriage to “prince charming” who promised her the world at 19, only to use and abuse her throughout a 15-year marriage that had recently ended in divorce. All her attempts at finding love had resulted in abuse, pain and rejection.

I listened, gasped occasionally and tried to communicate my compassion through sad, moist eyes. But did I mention Jesus? It seemed like it was only the two of us, and we forgot about the crowded station and the blaring loudspeakers as the intense conversation continued.

“I can’t believe I’m telling you all this,” she said quietly.

“That’s OK,” I laughed to lighten things up. “You’ll never see me again anyway.”

Then, suddenly, a man appeared from around a corner. “It’s time. The bus is here,” he said abruptly.

Keriann jumped, startled that so much time had flown by. She quickly gathered her bag and turned to shake my hand.

“It was nice to meet you,” she said.

Her face was no longer carefully cheerful. It was mottled, as if in pain. Our eyes met one final time as she gave a wave, attempted a smile and disappeared around the corner. Forever.

“Wait!” I screamed inside. “Keriann! Come back! Let me tell you about Jesus! God loves you, Keriann! You are His child, His princess. 

Keriann! Keriann!”

I sat, stunned, for a long time. It had been such a brief, unexpected encounter. Such an opportunity lost. As I boarded my own bus and headed off into the night in the opposite direction, my heart cried out again and again for Keriann.

I flipped on the overhead light and took out my notebook to write her story. Words were all that remained of that brave, friendly, talented, lonely, hurting Keriann from Toronto. Words and my anguished prayers that someone else will enter her life and tell her about Jesus. Prayers that they will not miss the opportunity as I did.

But my heart still cries, “Keriann! Keriann!”