The gate agent wanted to board him early, because he was elderly and legally blind. If I had to guess, I’d say he was in his late eighties. He was tall, probably at least 6’4” and the furthest thing from friendly. I led him back to his seat, the fourth row from the back.

“Here’s your seat, sir. Right here on your right.”

“Why do you people always give me a seat in the very back of the airplane?" he growled.

“I’m not sure sir, maybe it has to do with when you bought your ticket.”

“How do you expect me fit into that seat? Why do you keep making the seats smaller and smaller?”

He was stiff and struggled mightily to fold himself into the seat. I raised the arm rest to help. He finally managed to sit down but kept his big foot out in the aisle.

“Sir, you're going to have to put your foot underneath the seat in front of you. You're liable to trip people.”

“I can’t move it.”

The grumpy geezer was getting on my last nerve. 

I knelt on the floor, took his size thirteen wing-tipped shoe, picked it up and wedged it inside the metal bar under the seat. It was a tight fit. His knees were right up against the seat in front of him. Looking at him squeezed in there did make the seat look unusually small.

Breathing a little heavily from the effort of getting his foot out of the aisle, I began closing bins.

“Where did you put my bag?” he barked out.

“It’s in the bin right above you.”

“I want it down.”

So now I’m your personal lackey?

I forced myself to smile, “You can have it down for now, but I have to put it back up for take-off and landing.”  Because it sure as heck isn't going to fit under the seat with those giant feet of yours.

Sitting on my jumpseat behind him, I looked at the miserable old coot, sitting stiffly, looking straight ahead.

His gray hair was thick and neatly combed. I’d noticed earlier that he wore a nice suit. Flicks of dandruff clung to the shoulders of his suit and there was a spot of spittle on his tie. I surmised he had once been a handsome, distinguished man—maybe even pleasant? He’s probably shocked to find himself so old and decrepit—wondering where the years went. My heart softened towards him. Who knew why he was flying? Maybe he’d just lost a loved one and was returning from a funeral.

I knew when we landed he would need help getting up. As soon as the seat belt sign went off, I managed to make my way up to him, but he’d already tried to stand on his own and was falling over. I wasn’t strong enough to hold him up, we were both going down, but, miraculously, a man seated in the very last row was right beside us, helping me hold him up, kindly urging him to sit back down.

Tears welled in my eyes—they always do when a stranger jumps up to help a fellow passenger. Strange, but true.

The stranger waited until everyone had deplaned and helped me get the man out of his seat. 

I thought the old grump was going to walk off without saying a word. But I was wrong, he stopped, turned and took a long look at me, “Thank you,” he said softly. “You’ve been very kind.”

I know the smallest acts of kindness are never wasted, but having it acknowledged made my day. Even though my thoughts had not been kind, I reaped the joy from acting kind and (of course) it brought tear to my eyes.

 My airline has a policy that doesn’t allow anyone under the age of sixteen to fly without an adult. But, for an additional fee, they can fly as an “unaccompanied minor,” giving our employees  the responsibility of ensuring they get delivered into the hands of the documented adult waiting for them at their final destination. 

As a flight attendant, we are required to give them personal briefings about the safety features of the aircraft, check on them every 15 minutes, and most importantly make sure they do not get off without one of us walking them off. We try and board them first and seat them in the last row.

On a recent flight, the flight leader called back and told me an accompanied minor was on her way back and asked me to brief her.

After she took her seat, I launched into possibly the most thorough individual briefing I’ve every given.

“Hi there! Is this your first time flying? No? Well, you probably know the drill, but I’ve got to repeat it anyway.” I jokingly start out, “I see you figured out how to put your seat belt on. Good job! The closest exit is right behind you. If for any reason a mask drops down, make sure you put it over your nose AND mouth and, if during the flight you put a mask on, be sure to remove it first. This particular aircraft has different colored exit signs…”  and on and on and on I went.

She attentively listened with a smile on her face and politely thanked me for each little tidbit I passed along to her.

I ended my briefing, as I always do, “BUT, the MOST important thing is that you do NOT get off this airplane without one of us accompanying you, okay?”

She looked appalled, “But WHY? I’m twenty-six years old!”

Right behind me, waiting to take her seat, was the actual unaccompanied minor.

Can you imagine what this sweet twenty-six year old girl (who really could pass for fifteen) was thinking?? Getting this laser focussed, personal briefing about every detail about the airplane and what she needs to do in an emergency?

No doubt she was thinking to herself…this old bat is taking her job waaaay too seriously…she should retire already.

What cracked me up the most was how grateful she seemed, never once giving off vibes about how weird she must have thought I was, how weird the whole thing was. It wasn’t until I told her she had to wait until everybody else got off, that she even questioned it. Too funny!

For obvious reasons, New Year’s Eve is the least likely night of the year that Bob and I are able to get a sitter. But I love watching football and Michigan was playing Georgia in the Orange Bowl. So Bob and I donned our Michigan shirts in anticipation of celebrating a  big win. Of course, it soon became painfully obvious that only Georgia fans would be celebrating. 

As anyone who knows me knows, I LOVE playing games. Bob would want to insert here that what I really like playing are mind games (ha-ha). I’m very competitive and it doesn’t take much for me to become obnoxious about it.

Anyhow, I insisted we needed to play a game. When we were dating we played all kinds of games. And we laughed and laughed. Shouldn’t we try to start 2022 out laughing and laughing? After all, there hadn’t been much to laugh about in 2020 and 2021. The only problem was I couldn’t think of a single two player game. What games did we used to play--other than video games? We wracked our brains but couldn’t remember any of them. All word games were out of the question—Bob hates word games and is so awful at them that I can’t even derive my usual glee of whomping on him. I brought out every game we had in search of something, anything. Turned out our only option was Old Maid. Bob had never heard of it. That in itself made me laugh. Who hasn’t heard of Old Maid?

I explained the rules to him. He said he must be missing something because it sounded too easy. Because it’s made for 4 year old’s, ya big silly. I dealt the cards and we made bets. The stakes were high—the loser would have to do anything the winner wanted. When it came down to those last two cards, we studied each other’s faces as our hands hovered over one card and then the other. Did trying to hold back a smile mean we were about to pick the Old Maid? Or was it just good acting? Turns out we aren’t too good at reading each others’ faces. It made the game very suspenseful and we did laugh and laugh. 

A few weeks later we drove down to Indy and brought back four-year old Brooks and two-year old Maisie for the weekend. It quickly became evident that Brooks is following in my footsteps, which meant sadly (but for his own good) he must lose at least one game out of the dozen we played. But the little smarty-pants was determined not to suffer a loss. The one time I made sure he chose the Old Maid, he simply changed the rules. When he realized she was the last card he was holding, he quickly announced, “Actually…now the person who gets the 'old lady' is the winner.” His craftiness cracked me up.

Who would have thought that bringing in the New Year playing Old Maid with your husband of 37+ years of marriage would be fun?? Though I never want to ring in the New Year playing Old Maid again (it was actually very pitiful), the fact that we did have a rollicking good time probably means we’re going to be okay.  

The truth is getting more and more elusive. How disheartening it is to hear people claim that there is no such thing as absolute truth, that all truth is relative. As Paul the apostle said, if it isn’t absolutely true that Jesus died and rose again, then Christians are to be pitied above all men. But it is true, Jesus is the Way, the Truth and the Life. (John 14:6) Our God is a God of truth. (Deuteronomy 32:4) He not only despises deceit, He despises anything that dilutes or manipulates the truth.

The Bible tells us to put on the whole armor of God. (Ephesians 6) The very first piece of armor Paul asks us to put on is the belt of truth. Tucked into that belt of truth is the sword of the Spirit, the Word of God. 

Today we have at our finger tips the answers to just about any question we might have—there’s no need to wrack our brains trying to remember names, places or stats. We simply Google it.

Johnny Carson used to have a segment asking a guest if a certain individual was dead or alive. Bob and I play it now.

 

“Do you think Bob Newhart is still alive?” “Do you think Bob Dole is still alive?’

We place bets and then ask our phones for the answer. Mostly we’re stunned at how long people are living. Turns out, both Bobs are alive and kicking. 

I watched an interview with the co-founder of Wikipedia. He has either retired or will be shortly ushered out because he admitted how often Wikipedia scrubs facts they don’t want remembered. Think of the ramifications! They're literally able to change history! I’ve seen this first hand. I read a rather interesting story about a well known person, but when I went to share it with Bob, it was gone. If they can eliminate the truth, they could just as easily make up their own "facts." The days of going to the library and actually looking up something in a real encyclopedia are gone forever. Now we rely on a source that we now know can't be trusted to give us the truth. How many of us trust our phones for answers—yet they’re increasingly untrustworthy. We can’t lazily ask our phones and trust them to give us the facts. We certainly can’t trust the media. We have to do our own research, and even then, things we know are true or things we know happened are taken down. We are told it’s disinformation, it’s been debunked, or it’s settled science (actual data is no longer necessary). 

But there is one book that can never be “taken down.” Every year the Bible is far and away the best selling book in the world. Despite it being banned and burned, Jesus assured us that though heaven and earth will pass away, His Word will never pass away. (Matthew 24:35)

I looked up some quotes on truth. Some were downright depressing, especially ones claiming we are all entitled to our own truth, or that truth is constantly changing, or that if a lie is told often enough it becomes the truth. 

But I also found quotes that were inspiring, words spoken from people long gone, yet their words today are surprisingly prescient. To quote just a few— 

“In a time of deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.” —George Orwell

“…in general, it is the object of our newspapers to create a sensation—to make a point—rather than further the cause of truth.” —Edgar Allen Poe

“The man who fears no truth has nothing to fear from lies.” —Thomas Jefferson

Ultimately, the only truth that matters is that Jesus lived, died and rose again. God sent Him to save the world, not condemn it. (John 3:17) What comfort it is to know that in spite of living in a time of ever changing “truth,” Jesus is the same yesterday, today and forever.

Glory, Glory hallelujah

His truth keeps marching on

I miss seeing smiles. Unlike languages, smiles are universal. A simple smile can convey so much —empathy, encouragement, goodwill, friendliness. On top of all this, it softens everything you say, especially when you're saying something people may not want to hear. 

As the whole world knows, flying is getting unfriendlier by the day. Working my beverage cart, I stopped at a row and asked the woman at the window seat what she’d like to drink. She gave me a questioning look. Per my usual, I think to myself—for crying out loud. What do you think I’m asking? I’m standing in front of you with my beverage cart— do you think I’m asking you what your favorite movie is? When it struck her that I was asking her if she’d like a beverage, she asked what we had. Errrrr. Because it’s hard to hear through my mask, I basically scream out the options. Because she didn’t have the courtesy to remove her headphones, she asked a second time. Preferring not to scream out the list again, I asked her if she wouldn't mind removing her headphones. She didn’t hear that either, so I did a charade-like act of removing headphones. My request irritated her. But I said it with a smile, and maybe if she could've seen my smile she may have taken it better.

Every time I have to remind people to put their mask over their nose and mouth, I say it with a smile that can’t be seen. Complying and enforcing federal mask mandates is unpleasant enough, a smile would at least soften the “gentle reminder.”

I liken the softening effect of a smile to the softening effect of an emoji. I may text, “Please don’t dillydally!” But, and this is huge, I tack on the blowing a kiss emoji—or maybe even the laughing until I’m crying emoji. It changes the whole tone of the text.

It doesn’t look like we’ll be uncovering our smiles any time soon in the travel industry, but I know when we do, it’ll make a world of difference.

Every time you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing.

Mother Teresa

 For well over a year, my daughter and her family have lived in almost total isolation. They’ve had their food delivered, they haven’t visited people or had people visit them—they have simply stayed home. Caitlin used this time of being cut off from society to teach Brooks about God’s love and the wonderful world He has created for us. He’s learned hymns and Bible verses. He knows God loves him and he knows how much he needs to love God and others. This is the only life Brooks remembers. As more and more people get vaccinated or develop natural immunities, Caitlin is slowly starting to venture out. And every new thing Brooks sees fills him with wonder and excitement.

Before the pandemic, Brooks would say, “Hi!” to everyone they passed as Caitlin strolled around their neighborhood. He was mostly ignored because most were in their own little world—looking at their phones or talking on them. But it didn’t deter Brooks in the least, he’d turn around in his stroller and say to their retreating back, “Bye!”

He can’t remember interacting with people outside of his family, so the first time Caitlin took him to a park with lots of children he in was awe. Pondering the whole experience on the way home he told Caitlin, “Mama? I don’t know those kids, but I love them.” 

When I was there, we visited the same park and Brooks approached every child he came upon with an enthusiastic wave,“Hi! My name is Brooks.”

Not one child acted like they even heard him. But Brooks wasn’t put off by it, he even smiled big as they ran away from him. He loves these rude little brats? Are you kidding me?

It breaks my heart knowing that Caitlin and Cam won't always be able to keep Brooks and Maisie under their wings, controlling everything they see and hear. To know that one day they will be forced to be in this fallen world, and experience the sadness of it along with with joy. But for now, I'll cherish every minute of their sweet innocence, soaking up as much of them as I can.

I thought Brooks first exposure to Target was so funny. Can you imagine not seeing anything but the walls of your own home for over a year and then going to Target? 

Apparently, he didn’t say too much about it until Cam took him there, “Dada, you’re going to LOVE the inside of Target!” 

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we’d all emerged from this pandemic with gratitude for all the things we’d taken for granted? The simple freedom to go anywhere we want and be with anyone we want? To be able to rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn? 

I wonder what people living in third world countries thought of us when utter panic set in at the very idea that we might run out of enough soft paper to wipe our bottoms.  I remember jokes being shared about using the yards of paper coupons that get spit out of the cash registers at CVS in place of toilet paper.

When did we stray so far from God’s commands to love each other and carry one another’s burdens? To “be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other just as in Christ God forgave us?” (Ephesians 4:32) In some ways it’s been a slow fade, in other ways it’s been a terrifying plunge. 

I pray for a spiritual revival, but our world is becoming more and more like the world Paul told Timothy it would look like in the last days: “People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money…abusive, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, brutal…lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God.” 2 Timothy 3:2-3

Thinking about Caitlin's little family getting this window of time isolated from the world reminded me of how much I loved the "Little House in the Big Woods" books when I was little. I devoured them. Such an innocent time--Pa hunting for their food, Ma at home teaching reading and writing. Ending each night with Bible reading and prayer. I remember wanting to be Laura and live in the "Big Woods." I loved Ma and Pa.

It's hard to fathom it's been less than seventy-five years since children were taught to read using the Bible, that their day started out reciting The Lord's Prayer. 

There are so many aspects of Caitlin and Cam's isolation from the world I wish they could freeze in time. A child's loss of innocence is so sad and today's world snatches it from them way too soon. 

I believe one upshot of this pandemic was the forced homeschooling, allowing parents to oversee everything their child is being taught...could it be one step closer to reversing the plunge? I can only hope and pray it is, because no one wants to live in an unloving, brutal, lawless and ungrateful world and I believe only a new "Great Awakening" can change it.

Fully vaccinated, I was finally able to see my sweet grandbabies, three year-old Brooks and one-year old Maisie. It was pure heaven. 

I flew in late Thursday night, and perhaps one of the moments I’ll cherish the most, was Caitlin jumping out of her car, clutching me close, and sobbing. It felt a bit like I’d risen from the dead. Of course, I cried right along with her, holding her just as close.

When I came up from the basement the next morning, Maisie took one look at me and ran to Caitlin, burying her head between Caitlin's legs, clutching her tightly, taking shy peeks at me. After all, she’d only seen her Nana on FaceTime. But Brooks was clearly happy see me, he came and took my hand in his, eager to take me on a tour of “Louisville”— he refers to their house as “Louisville” and everything outside of it as Kentucky.

He asked when Papa was coming. I told him he’d come after he got his shot. He is a little obsessed about the shots, knowing several people had needed them before they came to visit. 

“If I went far away from Louisville, would I need a shot to come back to Louisville?” he asked. So funny how his little mind processes everything. 

Caitlin wasn’t feeling well, so after the tour of “Louisville,” she went to lie down and left me in charge. I had brought hundreds of stickers with me and got Maisie so interested she didn’t even cry when Caitlin left the room. Her surprisingly adept little fingers had no problem peeling off the stickers and pressing them firmly on to a piece of paper. She even starting saying, “tickers.”

Brooks quickly grew bored with the "tickers,” so I read him a book. I dare say, no one reads children’s book’s with as much exuberance and drama as I do. But Brooks likes to study the illustrations, especially the expressions on the character’s faces, trying to decipher their emotions. “Why does he look mad?” Why does she look scared?” “Why is she laughing?” 

After Maisie grew tired of the tickers and Brooks the books, I came up with a new game. I found a big box and a bed sheet. I put the box on the bed sheet and had Brooks climb into the box. I grabbed a handful of the sheet and ran to and fro across the wood floor, spinning Brooks on each turn. Since Maisie had transitioned from crawling to outright running, she held a piece of the sheet and ran along with me. Oh the laughs and giggles this “game” evoked. Is there anything more gratifying than listening to children laughing? They wanted to do it again and again and again. Just as I was about to tell them Nana needed a break, Caitlin came down and announced it was time for their naps.

Putting down Maisie was simple enough: say it’s time to go night-night, take the now crying Maisie upstairs and put her in her crib.

Brooks nap-time routine is a much lengthier process. First, I rock him as I read a book. I think that’s it. But no, now we do a Bible "study"and read a story from his Children’s Bible Story Book.

“You’re so tired, maybe we should skip the Bible story,” I suggest.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s just not how it’s done.” Too funny!

I take the giant Children’s Bible Story Book and scan the chapters, looking for the shortest story. “Elijah and the Widow.” Easy-peasy. Nana will break down each paragraph into one sentence.

It’s poorly illustrated (to say the least) and with Brooks penchant for determining emotions, I know there will be questions.

The story begins with God instructing Elijah to tell King Ahab that there would be a great drought and famine in the land and many people would die. Nana’s version: “God told Elijah to tell the king there wasn’t going to be enough food for everyone for a long time.” 

Next page. Not so fast, Brooks turns it back. “Why does the king look like that?” Honestly, the drawing depicts such an angry, red face it’s downright scary.

“Because the king didn’t love God,” I answer before turning the page. 

Nana’s version continues, “Elijah found a woman and her little boy and asked if he could have some of their food. Even though they barely had any food they still shared it with Elijah. And because she was so nice to Elijah, God gave her free food for the rest of her life."

I try to close the book. Not so fast. “Why does that little boy look like that?”

I study the freaky illustration and try to come up with an answer. The little boy is looking at the food with eyes that are literally bulging out of their sockets. I try not to laugh. I tell Brooks that he’s just very, very excited to eat the food and quickly close the book before he can ask any more questions.

“Now, you lay down with me and we sing songs.” Really? Will there even be time for a nap?

Sadly, Brooks knows the words to more hymns than I do. I suggest “Jesus Loves Me,” thinking at least I know that one. We sing it together and I stand up to leave.

“That’s not all there is!” he says indignantly. 

I’m pretty sure “second verse, same as the first” isn’t part of his lexicon so I lie back down beside him.

He sings the precious words of the second verse. He hits every note perfectly. Honestly, he has such a gift, I could listen to that sweet little voice sing all day long.

I kiss him goodnight. “Nana? Do you want me to help you with the last part?” 

A third verse? Who knew? Of course I do. He sings the last verse in a whispery voice and my eyes well up hearing him hit each note, each syllable so clearly. The fact that Caitlin taught him these words that will be imprinted on his heart forever makes my heart surge with pride and joy.

I'm so enthralled with them, I could just sit, watch and listen to them all day long. There’s so much more I could share, so many more funny Brooks’ stories, so much more about adorable, happy Maisie, how much it meant to me that she was reaching for me within hours—letting me kiss her sweet neck and cheeks until she couldn’t stand it any longer, but I’ll end with the last verse Brooks sang for me--words I never learned but hold so much truth and comfort.

Jesus loves me, this I know,

as he loved so long ago,

taking children on his knee,

saying, “Let them come to me.”

(I discovered this song was penned in 1859--- more than a 150 years ago!)

(I learned these sweet words were written in 1859, more than a 150 years ago!)