I'm moderately aware of my failings as a 'good Christian' on a day to day basis - I know I'm supposed to give to the homeless guy at the station but I REALLY NEED that last £2.50 for a skinny cappuccino . . . I know I'm meant to display patience towards my fellow human beings, but I practically have an embolism every time some gormless tourist flounders around in my path and delays me by a mere 8 seconds on my morning commute. I am SO grateful that people can't actually hear the thoughts that go through my head on public transport, because I strongly suspect I'd be strung up by the thumbs and put on display as the Woman Born Without a Heart, like in one of those Victorian freak shows . . .
But my most epic of 'oh FAIL' moments so far was on the night train from Mumbai to Goa. That sounds pretty evocative doesn't it? The "Night Train to Goa". It sounds like a good title for a book, possibly a murder mystery written by Agatha Christie, all glamorous and romantic . . . Yeah, not so much. There's six bunks to a carriage, with a walkway running the length of the train at one end, and it's pretty grimy, hot and sweaty. The bathroom is a hole in the floor where one does ones business onto the quickly disappearing tracks below, and vendors travel up and down the train selling spicy snack food and toothache sweet Chai tea which I happen to love. In fact, I truly love India, and will always keep going back for more, which sometimes baffles me as it can be SO infuriating . . .
On this particular occasion I was travelling with one of my bestest of best gal pals, a woman who never fails to make me laugh at whatever unfortunate situation I find myself in. We'd been allocated the top two bunks, almost on the ceiling - a super kind act that most travel agents in India do for Western girls travelling by themselves to provide a level of safety. The train was scheduled to leave at 11.30pm at night, and just before we departed, four rather large middle aged Indian gentlemen complete with impressive colonial moustaches arrived to occupy the rest of the carriage. There was much shuffling around, sniffling, arranging of ones shoes, and a fair bit of burping and clearing of ones airways (the men, not us, obviously. Also, I'm not ENTIRELY sure why I keep referring to everyone as 'one' in this post. Maybe it's the reference to Agatha Christie that's making me go all formal).
ANYWAY, eventually everyone retires for bed and the lights go out - sleepy time right? Wrong! One of these chappies is a snorer. I'm not just talking about a regular decibel of snoring either. I'm talking about Olympic level, Richter scale registering, room shaking levels of snorous noise here people! Me and my friend look at each other in disbelief - how can this guy's friends be asleep?? Do they have ears? Can they not feel the vibrations reverberating through the floor? But nope, they are dead to the world. We try and join them in the land of nod, but it is not to be. This snoring is EPIC. Acting super English, we tentatively try to wake him: "Excuse me??? (in a whisper) Hello???" We try slightly louder, and louder still, but nothing will wake this dude.
And I haven't even gotten to the worst bit yet! His snore is a kind of throaty, deep, wet phlegm rattle of a snore, that ricoches off the walls and makes me feel sick to my stomach. My friend actually does have to go and throw up in the hole in the floor, it's that bad! She walks the length of four more carriages to see how far the noise extends. But really, in such a circumstance, what can you do?! Like Pavlov's Christian canine, I start praying: "Please God, make this man stop snoring. I really need some sleep. You know how cranky I get when I don't get enough sleep, I can't function, tomorrow will be completely ruined if I'm awake all night, I'm begging you . . . . " etc etc.
It doesn't work, the snore continues. I try again to get to sleep. I lie there for hours stressing and turning over on my bunk and trying to block out the noise, until at some point, totally exhausted and tearful, I snap - I furiously start praying that God WILL KILL THIS MAN!! I seriously pray to Jesus (Jesus!) that He will kill this man quickly (but painfully) so that I can get some shut eye. I must have dozed off for about an hour because I distinctly remember the snore seeping into my consciousness and dreaming that I lost it and started stabbing him with a knife "shut up shut up shut up!".
Ber-limey!
The next morning the sun is shining. We depart from the train, slump into a rickshaw and stumble gritty eyed and less than perky onto one of the most beautiful beaches I've ever seen. Relaxing onto a bean bag and ordering strong coffee in a beach cafe, I confess to my friend what happened at about 4am the night before - that I had prayed, in all seriousness, to Jesus, the man who died for our sins, to kill my fellow human being over . . . . SNORING! We start . . . . to laugh . . . It's SO ridiculous. Praying to someone that stands for peace, love and forgiveness to end someone's life over something as petty as a snore!
So yep, here it is - my biggest Christian epic fail ever. SO FAR! I am constantly humbled and amazed by my ability to go from humanity-loving, all singing, all smiling Christian, to a petty, hateful psychopath in 0.2 seconds flat. Thank GOODNESS for grace or I would be in serious trouble, you guys!
By the way, I once recounted this story to some church members in our Freedom in Christ course, expecting a shared 'ha ha, how funny!' reaction. I was met with blank stares and a long silence punctuated by "Oh dear (long pause) . . . that's not good". Eyes were not met. People suddenly became engrossed in studying the chairs in front of them. Luckily the session started then and I could hold a quiet funeral for my dignity in private.
It IS bad, I admit that. But I still insist that if you'd been there, maybe you wouldn't have done the same, but you'd understand . . . .
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