Right before the
jetway door closed, I scrambled aboard the plane going from
LA to Chicago, lugging my laptop and overstuffed briefcase.
It was the first leg of an important business trip a few
weeks before Christmas, and I was running late. I had a ton
of work to catch up on, half wishing, half praying I
muttered,
"Please God, do me a
favor; let there be an empty seat next to mine, I don't need
any distractions."
I was on the aisle in
a two seat row. Across sat a businesswoman with her nose
buried in a newspaper. No problem. But in the seat beside
mine, next to the window, was a young boy wearing a big red
tag around his neck: Minor Traveling Unattended. The kid sat
perfectly still, hands in his lap, eyes straight ahead. He'd
probably been told never to talk to strangers. Good, I
thought. Then the flight attendant came by.
"Michael, I have to
sit down because we're about to take off," she said to the
little boy. "This nice man will answer any of your
questions, okay?" Did I have a choice?
I offered my hand, and
Michael shook it twice straight up and down. "Hi, I'm
Jerry," I said. "You must be about 7 years old."
"I'll bet you don't
have any kids," he responded.
"Why do you think
that? Sure I do." I took out my wallet to show him pictures.
"Because I'm six."
"I was way off, huh?"
The captains' voice
came over the speakers: "Flight attendants, prepare for
takeoff." Michael pulled his seat belt tighter and gripped
the armrests as the jet engines roared. I leaned over and
said,
"Right about now, I
usually say a prayer. I ask God to keep the plane safe and
to send angels to protect us."
"Amen," he said, then
added, "but I'm not afraid of dying. I'm not afraid because
my mama's already waiting to go to heaven."
"I'm sorry." I said.
"Why are you sorry?"
he asked, peering out the window as the plane lifted off.
"I'm sorry you don't
have your mama here." My briefcase jostled at my feet,
reminding me of all the work I needed to do.
"Look at those boats
down there!" Michael said as the plane banked over the
Pacific. "Where are they going?"
"Just going sailing,
having a good time. And there's probably a fishing boat full
of guys like you and me."
"Doing what?" he
asked.
"Just fishing, maybe
for bass or tuna. Does your dad ever take you fishing?"
"I don't have a dad."
Michael sadly responded.
Only 6 years old and
he didn't have a dad, and his Mom had died, and here he was
flying halfway across the country all by himself. The least
I could do was make sure he had a good flight. With my foot
I pushed my briefcase under my seat.
"Do they have a
bathroom here?" he asked, squirming a little.
"Sure," I said, "let
me take you there." I showed him how to work the 'Occupied'
sign, and what buttons to push on the sink, then he closed
the door. When he emerged, he wore a wet shirt and a huge
smile.
"That sink shoots
water everywhere!" The attendants smiled. Michael got the
VIP treatment from the crew during snack time. I took out my
laptop and tried to work on a talk I had to give, but my
mind kept going to Michael. I couldn't stop looking at the
crumpled grocery bag on the floor by his seat. He'd told me
that everything he owned was in that bag. Poor kid.
While Michael was
getting a tour of the cockpit the flight attendant told me
his grandmother would pick him up in Chicago. In the seat
pocket a large manila envelope held all the paperwork
regarding his custody.
He came back
explaining, "I got wings! I got cards! I got more peanuts. I
saw the pilot and he said I could come back anytime!"
For a while he stared
at the manila envelope.
"What are you
thinking?" I asked Michael. He didn't answer. He buried his
face in his hands and started sobbing. It had been years
since I'd heard a little one cry like that. My kids were
grown - still I don't think they'd ever cried so hard. I
rubbed his back and wondered where the flight attendant was.
"What's the matter
buddy?" I asked.
All I got were muffled
words "I don't know my grandma. Mama didn't want her to come
visit and see her sick. What if Grandma doesn't want me?
Where will I go?"
"Michael, do you
remember the Christmas story? Mary and Joseph and the baby
Jesus? Remember how they came to Bethlehem just before Jesus
was born? It was late and cold, and they didn't have
anywhere to stay, no family, no hotels, not even hospitals
where babies could be born. Well, God was watching out for
them. He found them a place to stay; a stable with animals."
"Wait, wait," Michael
tugged on my sleeve. "I know Jesus. I remember now." Then he
closed his eyes, lifted his head and began to sing. His
voice rang out with a strength that rocked his tiny frame.
"Jeeesus looooves me--thiiiiiis
I knowwwwwww. For the Biiiiiible tells meeeeee sooooo....."
Passengers turned or
stood up to see the little boy who made the large sound.
Michael didn't notice his audience. With his eyes shut tight
and voice lifted high, he was in a good place.
"You've got a great
voice," I told him when he was done. "I've never heard
anyone sing like that."
"Mama said God gave me
good pipes just like my Grandma's," he said. "My Grandma
loves to sing, she sings in her church choir."
"Well, I'll bet you
can sing there too. The two of you will be running that
choir."
The seat belt sign
came on as we approached O'Hare. The flight attendant came
by and said we just have a few minutes now, but she told
Michael it's important that he put on his seat belt. People
started stirring in their seats, like the kids before the
final school bell.
By the time the seat
belt sign went off, passengers were rushing down the aisle.
Michael and I stayed seated.
"Are you gonna go with
me?" he asked.
"I wouldn't miss it
for the world buddy!" I assured him. Clutching his bag and
the manila envelope in one hand, he grabbed my hand with the
other. The two of us followed the flight attendant down the
jetway. All the noises of the airport seemed to fill the
corridor.
Michael stopped,
flipping his hand from mine, he dropped to his knees. His
mouth quivered. His eyes brimmed with tears.
"What's wrong Michael?
I'll carry you if you want."
He opened his mouth
and moved his lips, but it was as if his words were stuck in
his throat. When I knelt next to him, he grabbed my neck. I
felt his warm, wet face as he whispered in my ear, "I want
my mama!!!" I tried to stand, but Michael squeezed my neck
even harder. Then I heard a rattle of footsteps on the
corridor's metal floor.
"Is that you baby?"
I couldn't see the
woman behind me, but I heard the warmth in her voice.
"Oh baby," she cried.
"Come here. Grandma loves you so much. I need a hug baby.
Let go of that nice man," she knelt beside Michael and me.
Michael's grandma stroked his arm. I smelled a hint of
orange blossoms.
"You've got folks
waiting for you out there Michael. Do you know that you've
got aunts and uncles and cousins?" She patted his skinny
shoulders and started humming. Then she lifted her head and
sang.
I wondered if the
flight attendant told her what to sing, or maybe she just
knew what was right. Her strong, clear voice filled the
passageway, "Jesus loves me - this I know..."
Michael's gasps
quieted. Still holding him, I rose, nodded hello to his
grandma and watched her pick up the grocery bag. Right
before we got to the doorway to the terminal, Michael
loosened his grip around my neck and reached for his
grandma. As soon as she walked across the threshold with
him, cheers erupted.
From the size of the
crowd, I figured family, friends, pastors, elders, deacons,
choir members and most of the neighbours had come to meet
Michael. A tall man tugged on Michael's ear and pulled off
the red sign around his neck. It no longer applied.
As I made my way to
the gate for my connecting flight, I barely noticed the
weight of my overstuffed briefcase and laptop. I started to
wonder who would be in the seat next to mine this time......
And I smiled.
