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This past Sunday morning’s experience didn’t seem remarkably different. I was away from home and I filed my way in amidst strangers. My seat was comfortable and close to a window. And while it was a little foggy, both the weather reports early that morning and the elderly lady sitting behind me promised that the sun would break through. I was a little early and watched as others found their seats. An usher made her way to a microphone and called out a name. The woman three rows ahead on the aisle got her attention. The usher hurried over and handed the woman a small, leather-bound Bible – she had dropped it on the way in. The two talked for a while as others slipped past them and into their seats. Try as I may, I was unable to eavesdrop on their conversation, but at the end I heard the usher say, “Thanks, I’ll bring it right back.” Right before things got underway, I looked around. Things have changed over the years. In times past, people dressed up to come here. Men wore suits with ties. Women wore dresses. Even the children were in their best wardrobe. Now, I’m one of the few who is not wearing jeans and tennis shoes. Even though this was a brisk fall morning, I noticed several people in shorts. Some had coffee and soft drinks they had purchased on the way in. The morning’s activities began right on time – a fact that had been made plain to me before I came. The agenda progressed efficiently. We were past the announcements and into a ritual I was accustomed to. Within minutes, I was attentive to the well-balanced voice of the leader. He talked of the beautiful creation around us. Images of mountains flashed as he reminded us of the beauty of the day. Specifically, he named two of the gigantic showpieces. “Mount Hood,” he said, “is the tallest mountain in the State of Some time passed. His voice startled me. I can’t remember the last time I dozed like that on a Sunday morning. As my eyes popped open, I felt my mouth closing. I hoped that I hadn’t been snoring or drooling – or both. When I glanced around at my seatmates, I was pleased to see that no one seemed to have noticed. It was when I glanced out the window that I was called back to worship. For there, some 30,000 feet below me stretched the A flight from As if to answer that question, the usher reappeared at that moment. Jett, a great name for a flight attendant, was returning the Bible to the woman just ahead. It was quieter now and I leaned forward to hear their conversation. “Thanks for letting me borrow it,” Jett was saying. “I’ve been meaning to get a Bible. I really liked that one because it would be one I could carry easily. I’ll look for one the next time I’m near a bookstore.” Since she was facing away from me, I couldn’t hear what the other woman said. But I saw Jett’s jaw drop a bit and watched as her eyes widened. The Bible was being handed back to her. And Jett said, faltering, “I couldn’t. You’re too generous.” Then, a pause, “Thank you.” She walked quietly toward the back of the plane. The small book held reverently in one hand, a collection of Bistro bags and discarded newspapers in the other. Suddenly, I begin to see the pieces fit together. I began to feel a part of God’s creation and His plan. I was mentored by the woman just three seats ahead. God had brought us to a place of worship. And for me … celebration.
Shine On!
copyright 2004 Joe L. Cope
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