I love flying. I say that as I am presently thousands of feet in the air heading to the Atlanta airport. The sun is rising one a foggy ocean outside my window and it’s simply breathtaking. This is why I love flying and this is why I love the window seat.
Sort of a strange occurrence happened this morning that brought this all to my attention. My flight last night was canceled so I had to rebook on the earliest flight this morning. Arriving at the airport at 5 am was rough, I’m not going to lie. I got a coffee and proceeded to the waiting area.
As I sat down I had a strange thought; the man sitting across from me was checking out his phone, minding his own business. He seemed the quiet type and my thought was, “I bet I end up sitting beside this guy.” I have no idea why I thought that, but I did. Fine, he seems like the quiet type. Maybe I can have a peaceful flight and not have to converse with a stranger. Yes, I know. I’m a horrible person.
Fast forward to boarding the airplane. I was in no hurry so I was one of the last to board. Finally when I made it to the back of the plane where my budget seat awaiting me I saw something interesting. Guess what?
Do you think I’m going to sat that it was indeed this guy that was sitting beside me? If so, you would be wrong.
It was much worse.
It turned out this gentleman wasn’t sitting beside my seat, he was sitting IN my seat!
Ok, ok, so I’m not as gracious a saint as you are. You are the kind of person who would let bygones be bygones and sit in the open aisle seat that was clearly his. Its all good, right? I wish I was more like you.
The fact is, I had made it a point to log into the airline website last night to make sure I arranged to have a window seat. I wanted to stare off into the sunrise and view the landscape far below. This was so important to me and yet here I stood, the rightful owner of such a seat, having it snatched away from me right under my nose. I could not stand for this injustice!
So I woke up this man. Yep, you heard me right. He was fast asleep. I woke him up and explained to him the obvious mix up. I assumed he would be gracious, apologize and immediately comply with a smile on his face. Instead, wordlessly, he pulled out his ticket while glaring at me, and the flight attendant who came over to stand behind me. He then turned to glare at his ticket and wordlessly unbuckled his seatbelt returning his glare to me with a clearly communicated look upon his face. He and the passenger in the middle seat upheaved their comfortable existence so this whiner could take his rightful place in his precious window seat.
What can I say? I told you I love the window seat!
Fact is, I always try to fight to get a window seat. I will beg flight attendants, ticket agents, pilot… you get the picture. In fact, only one time in my many years of flying have I ever actively fought to get an aisle seat instead. Strongly enough, I actually lost that fight…
…and it was all God’s fault!
About two years ago I was boarding a flight from Niger, Africa to Paris. It was a long flight but I was prepared. I had learned my lesson for the previous flight down. On that long flight I had taken my usual window seat, but since the flight was at night in a cloudy sky, it was all but useless. Shortly after take off, my legs started to cramp up from the close quarters. A few hours into the flight I started to need to bathroom and knew it might be a situation where I needed it more than once. The problem was that both of strangers sitting in the seats blocking the aisle were deeply asleep. It made for a very, very long, miserable flight!
So I determined the trip home would be different. As soon as we arrived at the Niger airport I went straight to the ticket agent. Unfortunately she spoke only French and I speak only English. Except, I also am well versed in mime. Hey, that’s French. Maybe it could be our common language?! So through use of gestures, motions and a little interpretive dance I managed to communicate my wish and was granted my first ever requested aisle seat! Ahhh, the luxury that would await me as I stretched out my sore legs and stood up to use the lavatory anytime my little heart desired. I was a happy traveler.
Ok, it wasn’t perfect. The guy sitting next to me I knew was a talker, but it was ok because I knew him. He was a fellow traveller on the mission team I had come over with. I had met him a few weeks ago and he was a real good guy, is not almost stereotypical. As a very large, very rich Texan, he came across pretty much as advertised. He would tell stories of traveling the world in his large yacht, about his wonderful investments and his jet set lifestyle. Really a fascinating individual. He was very generous. I saw this guy, so moved by the plight of a rural African hospital that was overrun and had a broken ambulance, actually buy them a new ambulance on the spot. Dead serious! A real good guy.
As rich Texans go, however, he was a very large man. Too large, in fact for his “next to the aisle seat” and we both knew it. Haa! Too bad for him. He should have prepared better, like I did. This was MY seat. I had fought for it and no one would take it away from me.
He made matters worse by his unique form of complaining. He told me how this just wasn’t the sort of lifestyle he was accustomed to. Why, this was the first time in DECADES that he didn’t fly First Class. He would have too, only the mission sending agency insisted everyone sit together in Coach. It was, rather, an injustice! Look at him, would you? He was going to be simply miserable in the commoner’s “way-to-small” seat.
I blinked a lot during this conversation. Did he honestly think he was getting through to me with this line of logic? Welcome to the salt mines, dude! Enjoy your flight!
“Give him the seat.”
“What???”
“Give him the seat.”
“Ummmm… no”
“It’s what I want you to do.”
“Dang it, Lord, this is MY seat! I fought for it. I NEED it.”
silence
“Look, if I give him the seat then I’m stuck in the middle of him and that equally large stranger beside him, for like, 10 hours. No….stinkin’….way!”
I’ve found that arguing with God quite frustrating. He never seems to digress to my stunningly clear reasoning and logic. So I sat with this for 5 minutes…10 minutes…. 15 minutes. The flight crew was preparing for departure and I was still brewing in my bitter justification, until finally…
“FINE! WHATEVER! Take my seat! I never get anything anything anyways. Thanks for nothing, God!”
“Hey, would you like to switch seats?”
“Yes! Thank you! I wasn’t looking forward to 10 hours being stuck in that crappy seat.”
Yah, tell me about it. Hey, maybe he will be so moved by my grand gesture that he’ll buy me a yacht also? I can dream.
So there I was, sitting between two large guys in a small seat. I wasn’t by a window. I wasn’t in an aisle. I was stuck in the middle. Fine. Whatever. At least the stranger on other side wasn’t a talker or anything.
“So, you ready for a long flight?”
YOU’VE…GOT…TO…BE…KIDDING…ME!?!
Ok, ok, ok, I’m here. I’m doing this. I’m all in. Let’s talk.
“I’m ready to be home.”
“Oh, where’s home?”
So we chatted all though the take off. Turns out this was a nice guy too. Nice guys all around me. Yippee!
But, cook, he was on mission trip also. His team was all sitting somewhere behind him. Strangely enough they had assigned him a random seat away from his group. That was ok. The was cool with it. It’s all good, right?
He began to tell me stories of the amazing things God had done on that trip. They really were quite awesome. I love those stories of faith, and miracles and God’s love. Then he asked me how God had moved during my time there.
I didn’t have any big, miraculous stories like he had, but there was one that really had moved my heart. So I told that one.
During the whole trip we were visiting different sites around the city. We had come across hundreds of kid. Scratch that… THOUSANDS of kids. One time we were literally mobbed by hundreds at one time. All I wanted to do is talk to them and find out a little about them. However language barriers prevented that.
We did have a national translator on our team. He was an amazing man of God and a core assets to our team. The only problem was that I got the distinct feeling that, for whatever unknown reason, he didn’t like me. Perhaps I misjudged him, but overtime I asked him to translate for me, he told me why it wasn’t a good idea.
Bite tongue. Sigh. Defer to his wisdom. Repeat.
So I simply prayed that God would give me an opportunity at least once during my time. God answered.
It was at the sand dunes. Technically it was our day off. We went for a camel ride to this locally famous location. As we stood on the edge of the vast Sahara desert, we notices something of note in the distance. Waves upon waves of local village children running across the expanse towards us to play in the sandy dunes.
It was delightful to play with them and watch them slide down the high dunes. The mission direct walked up to me, “I hear you’re a Children’s Pastor. This would be a great time to talk to those kids. Would you like to?”
“Yes please!”
“Ok, let me set it up for you. I’ll go talk to your translator. Wait here.”
Thank you, God!!!!
So myself, the translator and about 30 kids sat down in the fine dune and as I began to share the story of Jesus calming the stormy sea. We drew pictures of boats in the sand. We swayed back and forth in the waves. We laughed at the disciples faces as they feared for their lives and we spoke of the miracle worker, this “God-in-the-flesh” named Jesus that was Lord over the winds and the waves, yet still loved and cared for us. Then we prayed a simple salvation prayer. Then we said amen. Then all the kids ran back across the sandy field to return to their village before the sun finished setting in the distance. It was done.
The next days we packed up, boarded the plane, switched a few seats and here we were. Not much of a grand story, I know, but it meant the world to me.
And, apparently, it must have meant something to my new friend also, because he sat there, eyes wide open and jaw dropped.
Serious and straight-faced, he asked “What day did this happen?”
“Yesterday. Saturday. Why?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he unbuckled his seatbelt and excused himself out into the aisle and walked directly to the back of the plane.
“Hmmm, maybe he really had to use the bathroom?”
A minute later he returned with two of his teammates. They stood in the aisle while my new friend simply said, “Tell the story again, from the beginning.”
I was flattered. Maybe I was a better storyteller than I thought. Ok, let’s play to the audience. I told the story again with flurry and flare. When I had finished, all three stared at me in amazement. One had tears in his eyes.
Alright, they are just putting me on. I mean, it’s a good story, but not that good. What am I missing, fellah?
So they told me.
They had been to the sand dunes themselves, and they had played with the children themselves, and they had been lustrated with their lack of communication themselves. You see, they had the message and the desire to share it. What they didn’t have, however, was a translator. So they did the only thing they could do. They prayed.
“Lord, please send these kids someone to share the power and love of Christ, and do it this week.”
Then they left. That was Wednesday.
Sunday, they sat on a plane right beside the person who witnessed the answer to their prayers. None of us had dry eyes.
I’m reminded of the verse that speaks of how the Lord knows of even a sparrow falling. Another speaks of how, if God takes care of even the sparrow, think about how much He will take care of us.
Of course, sometimes He needs to get us into the right seats to do it.
Ok, so now I’m on my second flight of the day, heading to Rochester. There is no window at this seat far in the back. I’m sitting next to a freshman college student on his way to school to discover just how different Rochester is from Tallahassee. He’s excited to see the Fall. I think I’ll put my pen down and find out more about him. I can stretch out as I do so because, funny enough…
…I’m in an aisle seat.
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