I’m at the airport. Again. God works in mysterious ways, and it seems that over the last few months, I’m really getting to live the jet-setter lifestyle I always wanted.
Unfortunately, these trips haven’t been for great reasons. Our family traveled to see my family in October, and it was a very good trip. Then we were back again in November to say goodbye to my dad. Now, in mid-January, I’m making the trip again. This time to bring him home.
Dad died of interstitial lung disease, specifically idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. And because he died in a teaching hospital, he decided to donate his body for students to learn from. His teaching is completed, so we’re crossing state lines to bring him home.
“We” is me, my brother, and my mother. Originally, Mom told me they (she and my brother) would pick him up on a Wednesday, because my brother was off work. I didn’t think it mattered to me if I was there or not. But once she said the words, I realized it did matter.
So, I’m sitting in an airport for the second time in two days, awaiting my return flight home. It’s early, but because I left from my parents’ house and not a hotel, I’ve already had breakfast and coffee. Our regional airport doesn’t have much to offer – I just needed something to tide me over until I get to my layover.
I notice our boarding time has come and gone. It’s not long before someone comes to the desk at the gate to tell us there’s a problem with the plane. Something about ventilation. “It’s cold outside,” I think to myself. “They could just let us fly without the air conditioning working.”
Turns out it’s not that simple. (Is it ever?)
Long story short, I ended up rebooked for a later flight, thankfully, the same day.
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It’s been more than 9 hours since my original flight. In another timeline, I’m home already. But in this timeline, I find myself boarding a small regional plane, praying we take off on time.
Throughout the delay, I was never really worried. I’d get home eventually, and we have a beautiful group of moms that I know would help fill in with the kids if I were delayed another day. There’s not really anything I can do about it anyway.
And I remind myself of the burnt toast theory. Who knows what this delay is saving me from? Or, as I will soon find out, bringing me towards?
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I find my seat at the back of the plane. Next to me is a small, blonde woman with glasses. I learned she is Dutch. She’s maybe 20 years my senior.
I don’t usually chat on planes, but with the right person, I don’t mind a little conversation.
This woman and I seem similar. We get excited about the same parts of the flight, like cutting through the clouds as we climb higher and higher.
As it turns out, she was on a journey not unlike the one I had just made. She was flying to Amsterdam to say goodbye to her father. Through our conversation, she told me this is her last living parent. And while not entirely unexpected, his decline has been fairly swift.
After we take off and find our cruising altitude, she takes out a book, and I put on my headphones. I chose Sharyn, an artist I’ve been listening to a lot lately. I originally bought her album “In Full Bloom” in preparation for the birth of my youngest. But she’s been coming in clutch these days, too.
As I listen, words form in my head. “God sees you. He is not surprised.” These words echo, and I’m unable to think of much else. Tears form uninvited.
I don’t often get nudges from God. Or, if I do, maybe I’m not very sensitive to them. But I keep thinking I should share these words with this woman. After all, to know grief logically isn’t the same as knowing it emotionally. And even though this isn’t her first rodeo with losing a parent, it still feels like something worth acknowledging.
///
We land safely and deplane, and I find myself in an awkward position. I’ve had a nice chat with this woman, and it’s time to say goodbye, but also, we’re going in the same direction. And I still feel like maybe I should tell her what I heard.
I take my mask off (cause flu season) and tell her that God sees her. That he is not surprised. None of what she will go through is a surprise to him. Despite my best efforts, I can’t speak the words aloud without crying (nothing quite like embarrassing yourself in front of a complete stranger). She accepted them graciously, we chatted for another minute, and we went our separate ways.
As I wait for my layover, I think back on that last interaction. Why did those words hit me so hard? And I realize, it probably wasn’t really her that needed to hear them.
It was me.
It’s been a tough, emotional season. The death of my dad was a bit of a surprise to us. But it was not a surprise to God. It had always been written into Dad’s story. And now it’s written into mine.
But maybe you need this reminder, too. When things get hard, and you can’t seem to bring yourself out of the pit. When plans change unexpectedly. Life has a way of “life-ing” at the least opportune times. To us, it feels random, unplanned, chaotic, and left to chance. The twists and turns can leave us feeling broken and forgotten. The sadness and anger we see and feel every day when we watch the news can start to feel like too much.
But what if there’s more behind the scenes? What if we are not as alone as we sometimes feel?
So, maybe these words are for you, too. May they bring you comfort.
God sees you. He is not surprised.
