To anyone walking past row 6 on flight 3699 to Chicago Monday morning, it likely seemed all three of us passengers were together despite knowing practically nothing about the man and woman in seats A and B.
Having had an busy morning making final preparations to leave town for a few days, I was just getting a chance to able to pull out my Bible and journal as I climbed aboard the puddle jumper plane. As I settled into my seat 32,000 feet in the air, I also was able to settle into God’s Presence and read words from His holy book that somehow so powerfully calm my soul.
But I found myself distracted in the most wonderful of ways. Soon after take-off the man next to me pulls his Bible out of the seatback in front of him and the woman I assume is his wife does the same. And there we sit, strangers, yet family, taking in God’s Word, feeding on it as we sip our 4 oz cups of juice provided by the stewardess.
If that wasn’t enough of a beautiful picture, I look up from my journal at one point just in time to see the man reach across the aisle, grab his wife’s hand, and hold it gently, only letting go to let the flight attendant pass with the beverage cart. No words were exchanged, I don’t even think there was a glance in her direction. Just a man and a woman, connecting with their Savior, each other, and without them knowing it, me, their fellow sister. Perhaps those people passing row 6 are right… we ARE “together.”
We are family.
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