Bob and I rarely go to the movies. Mostly because I’m the harshest movie critic I know and I hate wasting money only to be let down or brought down. I tried making a list of all the movies I truly loved and I could only come up with about fifteen. But on the rare occasion I do like the movie, it’s worth every penny to see it at the movie theatre.  

I’d heard great things about a recently released movie and I couldn’t wait to go see it.

I hated it. I was let down and brought down. Maybe I’m just a sucker for happy endings--or at least a few laughs.

One of my all time favorite movies, The Sound of Music,  came out when I was only three years old. My parents took all of us to see it. It’s one of my few vivid childhood memories. I’ve read that the more emotion that is attached to a memory, the more likely it is that you’ll remember it. Which might explain why I’m able to remember it so clearly.

I sat mesmerized through the whole movie. When it ended, I cried, and cried and cried.

Rather alarmed, my parents tried their best to comfort me, “Honey, what’s the matter? It’s all good. They got away. They live here in America now. There’s nothing to cry about.”

Nevertheless, I could not get a grip and sniveled all the way home.

When my dad used to fly cross country trips he always brought us home gifts. Unique, thoughtful gifts. When I learned to read, he brought me home several books about the Von Trapps, because he remembered how much their story and that movie had affected me.

I devoured those books. I have to admit, I almost wished they hadn’t included their photos, because not a one of them was blessed with movie star good looks and sadly, it made me love them a little less.

I’ve thought about what triggers the strongest emotional reactions in me and decided it’s the sound of music (ha-ha). On the rare occasions I get to hear my cousin play her violin, I can’t help but cry because It evokes such sweet memories of growing up in a wonderful family.

The movie reels of my family’s lives here on earth have hardly been a string of happily-ever-after stories. But our faith in Jesus promises our stories don't end here--the best is yet to come--the happiest of all happy endings awaits us in Heaven. Hallelujah! 

On a flight a few weeks ago a family slowly made their way to their seats. The mother cradled a tiny newborn. Her husband and three more children lagged behind her. If I had to guess, the eldest was no more than five. They were all laden with backpacks. The husband nudged along a toddler, while carrying a beat-up old carseat and a vintage 1960’s pink, vinyl suitcase.

I watched the husband stow the suitcase and gently buckle the toddler into her carseat. He was strikingly good looking. At least she’d hit the jackpot when she snagged him. 

As soon as he made sure everyone was all set, he headed up the aisle to his own seat. A flight attendant touched his elbow and told him she was sure she could get someone to change seats with him so he could sit with his family.

“Thank you,” he answered, “but my family is sitting up front. I was just helping her out.”

A lump formed in my throat because nothing moves me like the kindness of strangers.

When we landed, it was after midnight. It had been a long, hard day and we were all eager to get off the airplane and head home. 

Ugh! It was going to take forever to get that family off. The children were fast asleep, with zero desire to move, much less have those heavy backpacks strapped back onto their little backs. 

Nevertheless, we had them up and ready in short order. One flight attendant retrieved the surprisingly heavy pink suitcase. I carried the carseat. Another carried the toddler. The little boys staggered down the aisle.

“We have a wheelchair ordered, right?” I asked. “Because their stroller isn’t going to cut it.”

“We don’t have a stroller,” bemoaned one of the little boys.

What?? Are you kidding me??

The wheelchair was waiting and we loaded it down as best we could. But two backpacks and the car seat were still left for the little boys to handle. They put the backpacks in the carseat, then took opposite sides of it to carry it. They had to put it down every few minutes, to rest between picking it up again.

I caught up with the guy pushing the wheelchair, “Can you please order another wheelchair?”

“Everyone else is gone for the night.” 

That figures. That poor family.

The tram showed up just then, and with a sigh of relief we slipped in right before the doors closed. 

It wasn’t until the next day that I realized I’d missed the chance to exhibit the kindness of a stranger. Big time. I felt sick. Who knows what blessing I’d missed out on if only I’d chosen to go the extra mile. Maybe I could have learned her story, encouraged her. How could I have left those little boys to carry those heavy backpacks and that car seat on their own? 

Even as I write, my heart hurts. Live and learn. How often have I heard those words from my mom? Too many to count. 

I pray I did learn this time. Please God, open my eyes to see those who need someone to go the extra mile with them. But I won’t see them if I don’t slow down. 

Dallas Willard’s advice for all of us is: “Ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life.” 

I doubt anyone needs to heed that advice more than I do.