This is from Peggy Noonan's column in this morning's Wall Street Journal.
I love my darling subway and feel great tenderness toward the people crowded into it. We're all together in the noise and clamor and crowdedness, with lights flickering on and off and the public-address system hissing inadequately and the train jerking to a stop in the middle of the tunnel. I sit there--I almost always get a seat--and say the rosary and am happy. How could I not be? I have progressed in my prayer life from praying for myself and my loved ones to praying for others. This took a solid 12 years. Twelve years to learn to pray consistently for others! (This is, I know, an amazingly personal thing to say, but I don't imagine it can harm anyone, and this is not a time for reticence in such matters.) I now pray for strangers, happily. I am so proud of this, and relieved. The subway gives me constant new people to pray for.
I love my darling subway and feel great tenderness toward the people crowded into it. We're all together in the noise and clamor and crowdedness, with lights flickering on and off and the public-address system hissing inadequately and the train jerking to a stop in the middle of the tunnel. I sit there--I almost always get a seat--and say the rosary and am happy. How could I not be? I have progressed in my prayer life from praying for myself and my loved ones to praying for others. This took a solid 12 years. Twelve years to learn to pray consistently for others! (This is, I know, an amazingly personal thing to say, but I don't imagine it can harm anyone, and this is not a time for reticence in such matters.) I now pray for strangers, happily. I am so proud of this, and relieved. The subway gives me constant new people to pray for.