As some of you may know, I’m spending this summer working at a church in Brussels, Belgium. Yes, you read that right! Your Southern girl that’s never left the United States is spending two months in Europe. I’m about halfway through my time here, and I love Brussels so much.

I’m writing this email from a writing club I discovered in a neighboring town of Brussels. For the last two weeks, I scheduled it into my Saturday, then didn’t go because I was afraid to get on the train by myself (not because it’s unsafe, but because I don’t enjoy navigating the logistics).

Due to the much-needed push of a dear friend, I finally summoned the courage to make myself come today, and it’s such a good thing that I did. I’m sitting at a table with about 8 other people who are also writing while peaceful cafe music plays in the background.

Now, to begin.

There are so many beautiful things I could tell you about from my stay in Brussels, from our visit to the fairyland town of Brugge to the wild chamomile flowers growing everywhere to the four gorgeous cathedrals I’ve visited so far. But instead, I’m going to talk about a place that isn’t very aesthetically beautiful, but instead filled with such a sweet kindness that it’s beautiful in another way: the Metro.

For those who don’t have a clear picture in their minds of what I’m talking about, think subway. I’ve included a BeReal I took (to give my sister a picture of what it looks like) for your mental imaging.

The Metro functions in a labyrinthine network of mostly underground tunnels in the city, and I ride it daily. At some times, like this morning, the cars are nearly empty and there are plenty of open seats. But in the afternoon when people start getting off work, or during the after-school rush, they are not. There’s kind of no such thing as personal space.

As an American, I don’t love standing inches from people, nor do I prefer sitting shoulder to shoulder with a complete stranger. The cars get so hot between 4 and 6 with people’s body heat. But there is an unspoken rule a friend pointed out to me that I can’t stop thinking about.

If you are a young person sitting in a seat, and an older person, pregnant woman, or someone with a baby gets onto a full car, you give up your seat. When the cars are jam-packed, you make room for people whose stop is further away to move toward the back so that those whose stop is sooner can get out quickly, even if it means a good deal of jostling.

Here’s my favorite: the “People on Board Get First Dibs on Your Seat” Rule. Somewhere between five and twenty seconds before the Metro comes to a stop, if it’s your station, you stand up. You don’t wait for it to stop before getting up and standing in front of the doors. Part of this is because there is only a limited time to get in and out before the doors close and off the vehicle goes again. But this is the key: when you get up, someone who was standing often takes your spot. And you stand up early so they can take your spot, not the people who are about to get onto the vehicle.

It’s such a strange, sweet bond of community that I see. You don’t look the person in the eye, but you’ve been on this Metro train together and therefore, they get your seat. Those newcomers about to get on don’t have a right to it.

I love the layer of kindness in this. Unspoken, quiet, unassuming. It’s the kind thing to do with the people riding with you, and so you do it.

There is kindness everywhere if you look for it. A church donating their kitchen to help a nonprofit during the week as they cook food for the homeless. A group of older women walking with me so we could find the museum together. A woman dumping all of her spare change into the waiting cup of a beggar by the grocery store. Store cashiers switching to English when they recognize a non-native French speaker.

Where does it come from? Why do people, though they do not believe in God or think about their eternal destiny, value kindness so deeply? Perhaps because it is part of the law written on their hearts. Either way, it’s something to savour. 

Did any of you see the subject of this email and think I was going to talk about Cinderella (2015)? It wasn’t a bad guess, given that it’s one of my top favorite movies. But I’m mostly just borrowing the phrase.

In the weeks since I’ve lived in Brussels, the Lord has taught me so much about courage. Sometimes when I tell people this is my first time outside of the US, they go “wow, you’re brave!” But I’ve never thought of myself as brave. The Lord opened doors and I went through them. Sometimes, though, I understand what they mean because there have been some days when it takes so much courage just to get out of bed in the morning.

Last weekend, I went to see the live action remake of “How to Train Your Dragon.” For years, my sister and I have adored this movie. We both have the script memorized, can hum the soundtrack, recognize the quotes… you know how it is. I was so excited to go see it after noticing in the preview that the script seemed to be the same (and the whole thing was nearly word for word, with some nuances). But the process of getting there was quite something.

I was nervous about traveling to the theatre alone, and it turned out to be worse than I thought it would be.  The main building was in one place, while the actual movie rooms were two minutes walk down the sidewalk in a mall. (?) I couldn’t find them, walked around for 25 minutes looking, called my dad panicking, and almost gave up.

But as I was walking, I came across a concrete road barrier. Someone had graffitied the word “Courage” on it. In English! (Nearly all the graffiti I’ve seen here is in French or Dutch/Flemish.) My brain suddenly thought of the Island of Darkness in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, when Aslan swoops over Lucy’s head in the form of an albatross and whispers “Courage, dear heart.”

Sometimes, it takes courage to do the thing, like finding a movie theatre that’s ridiculously located inside of a mall (I’m still salty about that, okay?).

Other times, it takes courage to be kind, like giving up your seat or not bursting a blood vessel because you feel so overstimulated by your lack of personal space.

It can take courage to do other things like attending a place you’ve never been or going up and speaking to a stranger or trying a new recipe when you think you might fail.

But I’m starting to learn that courage, like most things in this life, is a gift. God gave me courage last week when he dropped that message in front of me in black spray paint. In Deuteronomy 31, Moses encourages the Israelites, “Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” Before this verse, he encourages them that they will win the battle they are about to fight. Couldn’t it then be said that the Israelites’ courage flowed out of the promises of God? The gift of victory in Him that He was about to give them was the reason for their courage. Just like how the promise of eternal life can be ours.

“Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!” Psalm 27:14