The Young Man Beside Me
Exhausted and riddled with anxiety from listening to the news on this eighteenth anniversary of 9-11, my husband and I boarded a plane in San Diego going to Austin—the second leg of our trip home. I spotted a skinny young man seated in the back. He must have already been on the plane, I thought. A ponytail under his chin tamed a black beard while dark, uncombed hair covered one eye. His mouth was agape, and his head rested on the window. He was either passed out or sleeping very soundly. Please, God, don’t let that man be a terrorist, I thought. I hope he didn’t slip through security.
As I scanned the plane for an empty seat, I felt the peaceful words, “Sit beside him,” pierce my heart.
“What? You’ve got to be kidding me.” I blurted out, then quickly looked at the faces around me--thankfully, no one responded. As I neared the young man, I reluctantly slid onto the middle seat beside him. It was as if a door opened, and I had to enter. I looked up to see my husband staring at me. I knew exactly what he was thinking; what are you doing? Are you crazy? I patted the seat beside me, and he sat down without a word of protest. I relaxed, knowing only divine intervention could have directed my husband to follow suit.
Reasoning with myself, I decided it would not matter where I was sitting if the plane blew up. Besides, I’m just paranoid because it’s September 11, and at the airport, I watched the replay of the Twin Towers exploding at least four times.
The young man continued to sleep. His head dropped on my shoulder a couple of times, but he quickly removed it. The flight attendant served drinks as he remained asleep but restless. Once, he opened his eyes and looked around as if to question his location. I had extra water, so I offered it to him.
“No, I’m not thirsty, thank you.” He folded his arms on top of his tray, rested his head on his arms, and fell asleep. The position looked very uncomfortable. I was beginning to get a little concerned about him.
My husband was reading a newspaper he picked up at the airport. I knew he would not put it down until he had read every word. Since I had packed my book in my checked bag, I was left to deal with my thoughts. My mind wandered to my youngest son. He had passed away five years earlier. The young man beside me was about his age. I knew I would be in tears if I continued down that road, so I switched my thoughts to my critique writing group. In our last critique gathering, we agreed to watch for divine encounters—those unexpected, meaningful interactions that are orchestrated by God.
Douglas and I were traveling back from a guided tour of northern California. The thirty-eight we toured with came from all over the United States. I watched for clues that God might have placed before me and wondered if any of them might include a divine encounter.
Our guide used evolution theories to explain how the redwood forest formed, and she was careful not to discuss religion while sharing her state’s history. Nevertheless, she confided in Douglas and me that she was a Christian. She informed us that she disagreed with the theories she was required to present.
Towards the end of the trip, I realized I had stopped looking for divine encounters. I concluded that God was revealing Himself to me in His magnificent creation.
Then, my mind drifted to the first leg of our flight from Sacramento to San Diego. I sat beside a petite Asian lady. She gazed out the window for the entire trip. When the pilot announced our landing and lowered the wheels, the plane groaned as the wheel doors opened. The Asian lady stared straight ahead and made the sign of the cross. I noticed her arms were sweating profusely.
Hoping to comfort her without offending her, leaned toward her, and whispered. “I always pray when I fly. I think all Christians talk to God because they know He is in control.”
“I didn’t want to fly. My children insisted. I’d rather ride the bus.” She never blinked as she vented her frustration.
“That was a smooth landing, thank you, God.” I looked up to express my gratitude.
Stress melted from her face as she realized we had safely landed. “Have a nice trip home, and God bless you,” she said with a smile.
I smiled back and wished her the same as we parted company. I thought, Maybe that was a bit of a divine encounter. However, I’ll probably never see her again on this side of heaven.
Then, my mind wandered in another direction. God, if you want me to write another children’s book, I need to know what to write about. Careful not to wake the young man beside me, I searched through my purse and found a notepad and pen. I wrote down a few things that I thought might be a possibility for a child’s book:
- Anything less than love in heaven is foolishness
- If we do not love, then we do not know God
- God is Love
- I don’t want to grow up
- Unique talents to serve God
The young man beside me raised his head, looked at me as if I were his mother, and stated, “I’d like a drink now.” The flight attendant walked by, so I motioned to her. She stopped and asked what we needed. He directed his attention to her and asked, “Can you please get me a cola?”
After enjoying his drink, he said, “I hope I didn’t bother you.” Then, he explained that he was exhausted from studying. “I’m going to college in California. I’m on my way to Austin to visit my sister. Are you on vacation?”
“Yes,” I replied, grateful he was ok. “We’re on our way home now. What are you studying?”
“Sports psychology, I’m working on my second degree. My parents made me get an engineering degree first. I love people and like to help them, so I decided to study physiology.” He seemed refreshed and interested in talking. He told me his family was from India, but he had been in America since he was one month old. “What do you do?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m a grandmother. I don’t have time to work. I have a children’s book coming out this month, and I’m having fun with that. It’s about parents and grandparents guiding a child.”
“I like to figure out how children think. My sister has two children. What is your next book about?”
“Funny that you should ask!” I handed him the notepad I’d been scribbling on. “I’m not sure which subject to write about, maybe all of them.”
“I think you should define love in your next book. I had a hard time understanding it growing up.” He paused and then asked, “Why do grandparents love their grandchildren more than their children?”
“I don’t think they love them more. It’s just different. As a grandparent, I don’t have the day-to-day responsibility of my grandchildren. My job is to enjoy them. I guess, it might feel like unconditional love to a child since grandparents don’t have to be as demanding.”
Giving me a puzzled look, he asked. “You mean you wouldn’t correct them?”
“I would, but probably in a different manner. Remember, grandparents have a few more years of experience. If there’s a problem, we discuss it with their parents. Then we tell their parents how to handle it. There we go, making demands on our kids, still!”
He laughed.
“You said I should define love in my next book. I would love to have your definition since you are studying psychology.”
He put his hand on his chin and looked past me as he contemplated the question.
I braced myself to receive enough information to write a novel.
“Love is affection, just degrees of affection,” he said.
I waited, anticipating more, but that was all he had. I didn’t want to insult him. I had already judged him. My first opinion of him was way off base and I knew I had to ask for forgiveness. Nodding my head politely, I agreed with him.” Yes, affection is a result of love.”
Then he scratched his beard beside his ponytail and asked, “How do you define love?”
I didn’t have to think. The Holy Spirit must have been waiting to jump in. “As a Christian, the best way for me to define love is to use the example Jesus gave us. He gave up his life for us so that we can live forever with him.”
“So, you define love as sacrifice.”
“Yes, I guess I do. Jesus acted out of love.” I pointed to my note that was still on his tray.
Then, the pilot interrupted our conversation with an announcement to prepare for landing.
“Please email me when your book is released,” he requested, quickly jotting down his email on the back of my note. Standing to leave, we shook hands and expressed our pleasure in visiting with each other.
As we filed off the plane, the young man tapped me on the shoulder and said, “In my culture, children are considered a reflection of God. I think it’s because they’re so pure and honest.”
“That’s beautiful. I love it. Thank you for sharing. If I write another book, those words need to be in it. I guess that’s why you don’t have an option when you look at a child; you must smile.”
I know I always walk in God’s providence. But the moments when He pulls back the veil, I can see an explicit confirmation of His love and guidance. Obedience, such as keeping our thoughts captive, is not a condition for Him to open our eyes and reveal His presence. My thoughts were not captive when I boarded the airplane. God’s love is unconditional. What a wonderful blessing, I thought—The Young Man Beside Me
