You never know what God has in store for you . . . this really blessed me, I
pray it blesses you as well!

> Right before the jet way door closed, I scrambled aboard the plane going
>
> from LA to Chicago, lugging my laptop and overstuffed briefcase. It was
> the first leg of an important business trip a few weeks before
> Christmas, and I was running late. I had a ton of work to catch up on,
> half wishing, half praying I muttered, "Please God, do me a favor; let
> there be an empty seat next to mine, I don't need any distractions."
>
> I was on the aisle in a two-seat row. Across sat a businesswoman with
> her nose buried in a newspaper. No problem. But in the seat beside mine,
>
> next to the window, was a young boy wearing a big red tag around his
> neck: Minor Traveling Unattended.
>
> The kid sat perfectly still, hands in his lap, eyes straight ahead. He'd
>
> probably been told never to talk to strangers. Good, I thought.
>
> Then the flight attendant came by, "Michael, I have to sit down because
> we're about to take off," she said to the little boy. "This nice man
> will answer any of your questions, okay?"
>
> Did I have a choice? I offered my hand, and Michael shook it twice,
> straight up and down. "Hi, I'm Jerry," I said. "You must be about seven
> years old."
>
> "I'll bet you don't have any kids," he responded. "Why do you think
> that? Sure I do." I took out my wallet to show him pictures. "Because
> I'm six." "I was way off, huh?"
>
> The captains' voice came over the speakers: " Flight attendants, prepare
>
> for takeoff." Michael pulled his seat belt tighter and gripped the
> armrests as the jet engines roared. I leaned over "Right about now, I
> usually say a prayer. I asked God to keep the plane safe and to send
> angels to protect us."
>
> "Amen," he said, then added, "but I'm not afraid of dying.. I'm not
> afraid because my mama's already in heaven."
>
> "I'm sorry." I said. "Why are you sorry?" he asked, peering out the
> window as the plane lifted off.
>
> "I'm sorry you don't have your mama here." My briefcase jostled at my
> feet, reminding me of all the work I needed to do. "Look at those boats
> down there"! Michael said as the plane banked over the Pacific. "Where
> are they going?"
>
> "Just going sailing, having a good time. And there's probably a fishing
> boat full of guys like you and me.
>
> "Doing what?" he asked.
>
> "Just fishing, maybe for bass or tuna. Does your dad ever take you
> fishing?"
>
> "I don't have a dad." Michael sadly responded.
>
> Only six years old and he didn't have a dad, and his Mom had died, and
> here he was flying halfway across the country all by himself. The least
> I could do was make sure he had a good flight. With my foot I pushed my
> briefcase under my seat.
>
> "Do they have a bathroom here?" he asked, squirming a little. "Sure," I
> said, "let me take you there." I showed him how to work the "Occupied"
> sign, and what buttons to push on the sink, then he closed the door.
> When he emerged, he wore a wet shirt and a huge smile "That sink shoots
> water everywhere!" The attendants smiled.
>
> Michael got the VIP treatment from the crew during snack time. I took
> out my laptop and tried to work on a talk I had to give, but my mind
> kept going to Michael. I couldn't stop looking at the crumpled grocery
> bag on the floor by his seat. He'd told me that everything he owned was
> in that bag. Poor kid.
>
> While Michael was getting a tour of the cockpit the flight attendant
> told me his grandmother would pick him up in Chicago. In the seat pocket
>
> a large manila envelope held all the paperwork regarding his custody. He
>
> came back explaining, "I got wings! I got cards! I got more peanuts.
>
> I saw the pilot and he said I could come back anytime!" For a while he
> stared at the manila envelope. "What are you thinking?" I asked Michael.
>
> He didn't answer. He buried his face in his hands and started sobbing.
> It had been years since I'd heard a little one cry like that. My kids
> were grown -- still I don't think they'd ever cried so hard. I rubbed
> his back and wondered where the flight attendant was. "What's the matter
>
> buddy?" I asked. All I got were muffled words "I don't know my grandma.
> Mama didn't want her to come visit and see her sick. What if Grandma
> doesn't want me?
>
> Where will I go?"
>
> "Michael, do you remember the Christmas story? Mary and Joseph and the
> baby Jesus? Remember how they came to Bethlehem just before Jesus was
> born? It was late and cold, and they didn't have anywhere to stay, no
> family, no hotels, not even hospitals where babies could be born. Well,
> God was watching out for them. He found them a place to stay; a stable
> with animals."
>
> "Wait, wait," Michael tugged on my sleeve. I know Jesus. I remember now.
>
> Then he closed his eyes, lifted his head and began to sing. His voice
> rang out with a strength that rocked his tiny frame. "Jeeesus looooves
> me--thiiiiiis I knowwwwwww. For the Biiiiiible tells meeeeee
> sooooo....."
>
> Passengers turned or stood up to see the little boy who made the large
> sound. Michael didn't notice his audience. With his eyes shut tight and
> voice lifted high, he was in a good place. "You've got a great voice," I
>
> told him when he was done. "I've never heard anyone sing like that."
> "Mama said God gave me good pipes just like my grandma's," he said. "My
> grandma loves to sing, she sings in her church choir."
>
> "Well, I'll bet you can sing there too. The two of you will be running
> that choir." The seat belt sign came on as we approached O'Hare. The
> flight attendant came by and said we just have a few minutes now, but
> she told Michael it's important that he put on his seat belt.
>
> People started stirring in their seats, like the kids before the final
> school bell. By the time the seat belt sign went off, passengers were
> rushing down the aisle. Michael and I stayed seated. "Are you gonna go
> with me?" he asked.
>
> "I wouldn't miss it for the world buddy!" I assured him.
>
> Clutching his bag and the manila envelope in one hand, he grabbed my
> hand with the other. The two of us followed the flight attendant down
> the jet way. All the noises of the airport seemed to fill the corridor.
> Michael stopped, flipping his hand from mine, he dropped to his knees.
> His mouth quivered. His eyes brimmed with tears "What's wrong
>
> Michael? I'll carry you if you want."
>
> He opened his mouth and moved his lips, but it was as if his words were
> stuck in his throat. When I knelt next to him, he grabbed my neck. I
> felt his warm, wet face as he whispered in my ear "I want my mama!!!" I
> tried to stand, but Michael squeezed my neck even harder. Then I heard a
>
> rattle of footsteps on the corridor's metal floor.
>
> "Is that you baby?" I couldn't see the woman behind me, but I heard the
> warmth in her voice "Oh baby," she cried. "Come here. Grandma loves you
> so much. I need a hug baby. Let go of that nice man," she knelt beside
> Michael and me.
>
> Michael's grandma stroked his arm. I smelled a hint of orange blossoms.
> "You've got folks waiting for you out there Michael. Do you know that
> you've got aunts, and uncles and cousins?" She patted his skinny
> shoulders and started humming. Then she lifted her head and sang. I
> wondered if the flight attendant told her what to sing, or maybe she
> just knew what was right. Her strong, clear voice filled the passageway,
>
> "Jesus loves me -- this I know..."
>
> Michael's gasps quieted. Still holding him, I rose, nodded hello to his
> grandma and watched her pick up the grocery bag. Right before we got to
> the doorway to the terminal, Michael loosened his grip around my neck
> and reached for his grandma.
>
> As soon as she walked across the threshold with him, cheers erupted.
> >From the size of the crowed, I figured family, friends, pastors,
> elders,
> deacons, choir members and most of the neighbors had come to meet
> Michael. A tall man tugged on Michael's ear and pulled off the red sign
> around his neck. It no longer applied.
>
> As I made my way to the gate for my connecting flight, I barely noticed
> the weight of my overstuffed briefcase and laptop. I started to wonder
> who would be in the seat next to mine this time...... And I smiled.


Jan Ross
jross@...
http://focusontheword.com
ICQ#18767082
"For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand.  I had rather be a
doorkeeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of
wickedness."  (Psalm 84:10)