I just got back from visiting Ira (he slept all morning long) and Laura is on her way up via the A train. The A is our daily commute to and from the hospital. It's about a 50-minute train ride from the Hoyt/Schermerhorn stop in Brooklyn to 168th in Manhattan. There are 14 stops between Hoyt and 168.

My commute via the A - or any other train, for that matter - is my daily reminder that we live in a broken, unredeemed world. (As if Ira's own predicament wasn't enough of a reminder.) On the A train it's not uncommon to hear a mother curse her five year old daughter. Beggars who look like they are on the edge of death are frequent. Cops checking bags and eyeing people of certain ethnicities are common these days. People pissed off at the cards they've been dealt in life are many. Christian zealots screaming at the top of their lungs that we're all going to hell if we don't repent from our evil ways are numerous. The mentally handicapped and physically disabled ride with their overworked, overextended and exhausted caregivers. Thieves, traipsing up and down the train, peddle the weekend's just released movie blockbusters in DVD format. Very young boys and girls straddle each other. And all this is what you normally see on the train. I won't even go into the random stuff that happens.

Yes - for those of you who are positivists and optimists - there are signs the world isn't as broken as we might believe and that we are on the road to redemption. When a person gets out of a seat for a pregnant woman or an elderly person so they can sit down, I'm reminded that good exists in the world. When someone engages my daughter in friendly banter, I'm reminded that hope exists. When I look at the pole in the middle of the train and see all kinds of colored hands holding on, I'm reminded that for a brief moment we are all one people in spite of being broken and longing for full redemption.