I’ve cried heart wrenching tears on an airplane on two different occasions before now, but this time was different. The first time was my first ever flight on the way from Atlanta to my dear friend, Christy’s wedding in Bermuda, when the pilot announced that we needed to get into the crash-landing safety position with our bodies leaning forward against the seat in front of us and our hands crossed over our heads because the landing gear was malfunctioning. The flight crew’s plan was to land the plane on a runway covered with foam for a somewhat softer impact. Fortunately, in the last few minutes of the flight, the landing gear extended, and we were able to land safely. My dark green silk shirt was stained with tears full of fear and at 23 years old, I was thrilled to know I would live to see another day.
The second time was on a flight from Houston, Texas to
Atlanta, Georgia to plan my mother’s funeral.
Just hours earlier I received a phone call informing me that she had passed
away from a sudden heart attack while getting ready for work that morning. Devastating doesn’t even come close to
describing my wrecked, broken heart. Those were the ugliest tears I’ve ever cried,
and I truly did not care who saw me or what anyone thought of my blubbering,
snot filled sobs.
The third time must truly be a charm because it was just so
peaceful. I was on a flight home to Houston,
Texas from Greenville, South Carolina.
My husband, Barry, and I were on an airline we had never flown before
and our seats were not together. I was
in a middle seat in between the teenager to my left by the window who was
engrossed with his video game on his phone and the girl in her mid-twenties to
my right who slept the entire flight. Barry
was across the aisle from me in a middle seat like me. As I sat there quietly for the two-hour
flight home, I could feel the silent tears continuously roll down my
cheeks. These were tears of joy at the very
goodness of God.
Two months prior to this flight I was attending a ladies
Bible study where we were discussing personal life hurts and all the sudden, I
said, “I don’t trust God.” After the
words rolled off my tongue, I gave one of the leaders, Lillian, a shocked look which
displayed the surprise on my face because I had not intended to say these words. Especially not out loud! Even though it’s what I felt, I never wanted
to acknowledge it. The other leader, Gigi,
later told me she was proud of me for my honesty. My distrust came from many areas of childhood
hurt, but primarily my relationship with my dad. My parents divorced when I was a very small child. I have wanted nothing more than to
have a relationship with my dad all my life.
However, due to hurtful life circumstances, he became angry and bitter,
which caused his words to become more like poison arrows instead of kind and
loving. I have come to realize that God
has been protecting me all these years from continued hurt.
Through a series of what could have only been God’s ordained
steps, I went to visit my dad at his new residence, in Greenville, which was an
assisted living center, for his 82nd birthday. The experience at the airport on the way to
see my dad and what transpired while visiting him led to the silent tears of joy
streaming down my cheeks on my flight home to Houston that day.
In all honesty, I was truly afraid to take this trip. From the minute we booked it, to the minute
we arrived. However, God had it all
planned out. Every minute. He was showing me He was there. On our travels there from Houston, God
showed me that I could trust Him because He had already gone before me. At the airport food court, we met a sweet
couple from Kerrville, Texas who sat at our table. They were 82.
She was in a wheelchair, and he could walk, but needed a back brace for
lumbar support and moved very slowly. I
was able to help them with napkins, straws, and eating utensils because their
mobility was limited. I knew then that
God was showing me a mental picture of 82.
I sat next to a little boy named Josiah when we arrived at
the gate. In between playing a race car
game and choosing videos on his iPad, he would tap me on the shoulder to ask me
a series of questions, which included “Can you guess my favorite color? What about my favorite food?” It took me a
little while, but I finally guessed them all correctly. These are questions I’ve wondered about my dad
my entire life. I don’t know my dad and
he doesn’t know me. As strange as it
might sound to some, this is our reality and our story. I had chills because yet again God was
showing me, I could trust Him.
After getting settled at the hotel upon our arrival, my Aunt
Sarah drove Barry and me to the assisted living center. When we arrived, Barry and I waited in the
lobby before heading down the hallway leading to my dad’s room. As we began to walk, I was so afraid, almost
to the point of having a panic attack, and kept looking back at Barry with a
facial expression that said, “save me”.
He smiled and used his hands to make a forward moving motion for me to just
keep going. I wanted the walk down the
hallway to take forever, but room 106 was just around the corner.
When we arrived in my dad’s room, I entered the doorway and
said rather loudly, “Happy Birthday”. He
sat there in silence. I then asked him, “Do you know who I am?” He said, “yes, I love you” and for that very
moment in time as we exchanged a hug, it was like a lifetime of hurt, years of
carrying the shame of feeling unloved and exhaustion from trying to work so
very hard to earn and prove my self- worth had been washed away. For the first time in my life, I felt free and
that was due to God’s love and grace.
Seventeen people showed up to my dad’s 82nd
birthday party the next day at a local restaurant. I looked at him and said, “If this many
people show up to my 82nd birthday party I will feel so loved.” He smiled and said, “This is the best
birthday I’ve ever had.” The smile on
his face when we sang Happy Birthday was a true depiction of this very
statement.
Before leaving to go back home the next day, I gave my dad a
big hug and through voice cracked pauses and tears, I read him the devotional
from Paul David Tripp’s New Morning Mercies on March 31, which is my
dad’s birthday. It read “So be careful
how you make sense of your life. What
looks like a disaster may in fact be grace.
What looks like the end may be the beginning. What looks hopeless may be God’s instrument
to give you real and lasting hope. Your
Father is committed to taking what seems so bad and turning it into something
that is very, very good.”
Yes, yes, He is indeed.
I am forever grateful for those silent tears on the flight home that
day.
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