Oppertunity

I settle down in my seat in the plane, and get ready to pull out my iPod. I’ve done this hundreds of times, this flying thing. Heck, I’m a missionary. I’ve got it all down pat. After complaining to God for about five minutes about not getting a window, I generally put my earphones in and sit back and close my eyes. Eventually I will fall asleep and wake up for meals and landing only. If I’m unlucky and my mind refuses me sleep, I pull out a notebook and pen, or my kindle.

I glance at the man sharing the two-seat row with me. He is the one who has the window seat. I envy him. His chin is in his hand, and he is gazing outside. I don’t know why – it is night time and there is nothing to see.

I decide to ignore him; I turn my iPod on. But then he sighs, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see his shoulders fall into a droop. There is something wrong with him. Something on his mind. I don’t want to know.

I fall into my routine, and wake up several hours later. It is morning and the flight attendant starts coming down the aisle with a cart, handing out breakfast. My iPod is still going; it is playing a song about witnessing to a friend. I turn it off and tuck it away in my backpack underneath the seat in front of me. I choose my breakfast and begin eating. I don’t understand why they make such a big hype about airplane food. I notice the man is not eating anything.

I watch out the corner of my eye as he pulls several traveling brochures out of his coat pocket. Finally deciding I should be somewhat civil I say, “Where are you headed?”

He sighs, and his hands holding the brochures fall into his lap. “Detroit for now. Who knows where I’ll go after that.” I nod and think the conversation is over, but he says something else. “I just hope this plane lands on time; I need to be on time for my mother’s funeral.”

Something wrenches in me. We exchange eye glances, and for the first time I see the pain in his eyes. I can relate to the pain of a loved one dying, but certainly not someone as close as a parent. My parents are still healthy, living lives of ministry in Kenya, East Africa. “Oh,” I say quietly. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” I m sorry and embarrassed for having brought up a painful subject. I feel like an idiot.

“It’s okay,” he waves it off, stares out the window. The sunrise is stunning. “She believed in heaven,” he says, “so she’s got herself covered, I guess.”

I swallow, hard, not sure what to say next. I want to turn the other way, end this conversation now before I get myself in trouble, or bring up topics that might get offensive to him. But something inside of me will not be quiet. “What about you?” I ask. “Do you believe in heaven?”

The man shrugs, and I bite my lip. “I suppose,” he says. “Lots of people do. But that doesn’t mean I will go there when I die.”

“No, it certainly doesn’t,” I say quietly. We are both silent for a minute. The quiet is deafening, so I say, “Do you want to go to heaven?”

He shifts in his seat. “I don’t really know. I’ve heard there are streets of gold, and no darkness, and that everyone’s happy and perfect. That we all sing in choir with the angels and we live like that for all eternity. I don’t know what I really think of that. I think I’d rather just kind of, like, you know, die, and be in the ground, and have my life over with.”

I nod. “I see. Well, you know the real reason we want to go to heaven is not because it’s perfect or for the riches and wealth. It’s about spending an eternity with God.”

“Yeah, but what’s so interesting about him?”

“You mean God? Well, God is in all control over my life, and over yours. He made you, and he planned you. He is all sovereign, and all knowing, and all truth. But the most amazing thing about God is that he knows you and loves you personally.”

“Do you really believe that about God?”

“I most certainly do.”

I can see he has a very big question he wants to ask, but he’s not sure if he should ask it. I do not know if I should tell him to ask whatever is on his mind, or to just be quiet. My heart is beating very hard. I hope he cannot hear it; that would be extremely embarrassing.

“If God is so big and so perfect, and he created everything in this universe, why then would he care about individual people?”

I am glad he asked that question. First of all, it’s an easy answer. It’s not one of those tough questions like, “If God is in control, then why does this…happen?” And secondly, I am glad because it means he is thinking. It means God is working.

“God created us so that we can worship him. But he created us so that he can delight in us, so that he may have someone in his own likeness to love. So when God created the earth, he created a man and a woman, and he created them to be perfect. But God’s adversary, Satan, tempted the man and wife, and out of the evil desires of their heart, they sinned. They rebelled against God. They went against the one rule that he had set up for them, and because of that, God had to punish them. No more could man be perfect. And because God is perfect, he must have a high standard of perfection. So the relationship between man and God was messed up.”

“Oh that’s great,” the man says. “So where does that leave us? Hopelessly stranded on this earth until the Judgment day? Until God has just gotten so fed up with us that he burns us all up and sends us to hell?”

I can hear the frustration in his voice. I ache for him as I realize the pain he is going through and all the questions flying through his mind. “That’s where the beauty of it comes in,” I say. Breakfast is no longer in my mind. Neither is the fact that I spilled orange juice on my shirt.

“You see, God loves us so much, that he made a way to bridge the gap between man and God. He sent his son, his only son, whom he loved, to earth in the form of a baby. The baby’s name was Jesus. Jesus was perfect, but he was also human in every way. That’s why he can relate to whatever we are going through. I take comfort in the fact that Jesus knows what it feels like to have someone he loves die. His best friend, Lazarus, died from a prolonged illness. The Bible, which is God’s perfect word given to man, tells us that Jesus went to Lazarus’ tomb and wept. But anyway, Jesus grew up and he started preaching and teaching and proclaiming that he was the Son of God, who had come to earth to save us from our sins.”

“Is that where the story of him dying on the cross comes in?” the man asks.

I nod. “Yes. That’s where it comes in. See, someone needed to take the punishment for man’s sin. The most ultimate punishment is to have God turn his back on you, to die, and to go to hell. That and only that can pay for the graveness of our rebellion against God. God can’t take that. But because God is infinitely merciful, Jesus died on a cross. He took every sin upon his shoulders, and God had to look away, because the sin was so great, and Jesus had to die. That is how much God loves us. That is how much Jesus loves us.”

The man looks away, but if I am not mistaken, I think I see a tear on his cheek. I go on, because the best is yet to come. “But that’s not the end. Jesus was taken off the cross and buried in a tomb, and three days later he rose up from the grave, defeating death so that we might have eternal life, and through him, those that are saved, when they die, they shall live for eternity with Jesus Christ and his father in heaven, where every tear, and every shadow, and every bit of pain will be swept away. But if you do not believe in him, when you die you will spend eternity in hell, which is a lake of fire, where you will never die. You will only burn for forever.”

The man will not look at me. I glance up and take in my surroundings which I had forgotten. The flight attendant had taken my breakfast. I was not done. I don’t bother about it. The screens above my head say we will be landing shortly. I ignore them, breathe a prayer that God’s word will not return to him void.

The man surprises me by saying something. I thought he would not want to talk anymore. His voice is wavery. He still won’t look at me. “Let’s just say hypothetically speaking, that I want to have eternal life. That I want tell God that Jesus paid the price for me. I want to ensure that I won’t go to hell. How do I do that?”

That is the most important question he has asked so far. I can hardly breathe, but I get the answer out somehow. “By praying to God and telling him that you realize that you are sinner who is worthy to burn in hell. God already knows your heart, because he is all knowing, but he wants to hear you say it. You have to ask God to forgive you for turning your back to him, for rebelling against him, for disobeying him, and for not loving him above anything else in this world. Then you have to surrender your life to him, and devote your life to serving him, to loving him, and to following his will. By no means will he make your life perfect. In fact the Bible says that the Christian walk is a hard one. I’m not going to lie to you. But God promises that he will be with us all the way. He promises to never leave us, he promises to provide our needs, to give us perfect peace, and he promises to always satisfy us fully. And when we die, he promises to take us to heaven to be with him, where we will experience unspeakable joy to no end.”

The plane is now landing in Detroit. I remember to put on my seatbelt. We say no more, and the conversation is over. We land on the airstrip, and roll to a halt. The captain comes over the speakers. I don’t listen to him. My mind is pre-occupied. I pull my carry-on out from underneath the seat, and slip into the aisle cramming with exiting passengers. The man is directly behind me. As I pass the flight attendants on my way out the door of the plane, I hear the man behind me. As he passes me in the tunnel, he looks me in the eye. His face is dry. His eyes are full, but not with tears. He says thank you. He walks on ahead of me.

I enter the airport. I glance around for him, but he is gone. I do not see him again. There is a lot of people. Somewhere a baby is crying. People are rushing by with bags slung over their shoulders. An announcer comes over the speakers apologizing for a late flight. I take it all in, but I don’t hear it.

I glance out the large, expansive windows behind me. The sun has risen. It is still just as stunning. I see my best friend whom I haven’t seen in three years come running up to me, screaming hysterically with joy, her arms open wide. I drop my bag on the floor, and with a grin splitting my face in two, I run towards her.