It was an early morning, but not the kind I enjoy. My favorite early mornings I’m propped in bed, watching the sun come up, color spreading across the sky; talking with God or with my husband, Greg. Those are the relaxed, intimate mornings, where life is savored and moments matter.
Today was different. The alarm rang at 3:15 a.m., and I groaned. Greg was already headed for the shower while I stumbled about in the dark, irritated at the lack of sleep and the rush for the airport. These are the harried days, the dash to push everything into the suitcase, the rush on the freeway, then the agonized wait to drop off a bag or get through security. Today we arrived at the gate with time to spare.
I sat down and stared out the window, but it was still too dark to see anything. Might as well be useful, Jill. Digging in my carry-on, I pulled out my laptop. Work never stopped; here was as good as anywhere to wade back in. A half hour later the airport noise had faded into the background when suddenly the voice of the Southwest agent registered. “A1-30, please line up on this side.” Greg and I took our place in line, while I juggled papers and my laptop, hardly noticing the older gentleman who came behind me. But I heard a woman’s voice that made me turn. “Here’s your ticket; you’re A24.” Why would you tell an adult his number in line?
Life is not about the hustle of deadlines and accomplishments.
She was pretty, with short hair and an arm flung around his shoulders. “Just stand here, and follow this line of people.”
He shook his head. “I’ve flown plenty; I know how to do this.”
She smiled, “I know, Dad. Here’s your backpack; let’s put it on you.” Suddenly she was crying, holding him tightly, as if she were the parent and he the child. “You’ll be OK,” she said. “Call me later.” And then she walked off, back toward security. I hadn’t seen someone past security without a ticket since September 11. It was clear she had been given special exemption because of her father’s memory issues.
He straightened and started to talk with us. A few times he asked, “Where am I going now?” but he managed to get on the plane, just one row ahead of us. I wondered about his story, their father-daughter bond, and what had led to this place.
Later we landed in St. Louis and stepped outside the terminal where I saw a young girl, about 10, spot her father. She dropped her suitcase and ran toward him. He caught her in his arms as she cried, “Daddy!” and I had to look away. It was too much to intrude. This was their daddy-daughter moment.
Today I’m reminded of the fleeting nature of relationships: here today, drastically altered tomorrow. Life is not about the hustle of deadlines and accomplishments. It’s about the people we meet and those who mean the most. It’s about taking those moments and breathing it in.
For our God, the author of life, is all about love.
