The View from First-Class
Some people plod methodically through life. They have a routine and they stick to it. They eat oatmeal for breakfast everyday because it’s healthy. Friday is pizza night. Saturday is for yard work. Sunday they go to church. There’s calmness to such an orderly life.
Unless they happen to be related to someone like me.
I am a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants-kinda-gal whose life is full of adventures, few of which are rarely planned in advance. The only routine I stick to is getting up every day and I anticipate that life’s biggest adventure will begin on the day I fail to do that.
My friends often tell me, “You’re not capable of living a normal life.” What they really mean is that my life is high-drama.
Don’t mistake that for me being a high-maintenance woman. I’m not that gal. I’ll throw a sleeping bag in the car and travel across country without a road map or a GPS. I’ll eat tuna fish straight out of the can but I’m just as likely to grab a friend after church and head over to the Pinehurst Hotel for a Mimosa Brunch. I prefer my chocolates from See’s Candies and my tequila to be Jose Cuervo.
I’m not bi-polar but I can make others feel like they are.
Sister Tater is one of those orderly people. She’s lived in the same town and worked the same job for decades. She’s younger than me but she’s already earned a life-time attendance pin for Sunday School. She is an amazing mother, wife, and sister, and my most cherished friend.
I am always calling Tater from airports to tell her about my latest escapade. This week I called her from Chicago’s O’Hara. I was flying to Oregon to spend the holidays with my family.
Nobody, including Tater, expected the trip to be smooth. The worst winter storm in decades blanketed the Northwest. Seattle was a sheet of snow and ice. Portland’s transit system was shut down. State troopers had closed Interstate 84. Ten inches of snowfall was expected to hit Bend, Oregon on Christmas Eve – at the very time I was traveling to that very place.
I’d tried to cancel the trip, to avoid getting stranded, but United Airlines assured me I would be fine. The planes were all running on time.
Except the one out of Raleigh. It was an hour late. Time enough for me to have a lunch that didn’t come in a box. I ordered a burger and diet-coke with lemon.
The waitress at the airport restaurant looked older than me. She had the waist-length hair of a Pentecostal, and a worn smile common among people stuck in routines they don’t enjoy. She kept my diet coke replenished and brought the bill in a timely fashion. The total was $14. I started to round it up to $20 and sign it but the gut thing stopped me.
I don’t know if people who plod through life get that gut thing or not. I get it all the time. Call it a prompting. Or the Holy Spirit. Or maybe it’s Mama’s voice. I try never to ignore it because ignoring it can create indigestion.
So I signed the check the way the prompting told me to sign it, leaving the waitress with the worn smile an unexpected gift. Out to the side, I wrote Merry Christmas. Then I left to go catch my plane.
When I got to the gate I asked the gal at the counter to double-check and make sure that my sky miles were credited. She did, then handed me an unexpected gift of my own – a seat in first-class all the way to Chicago. I’ve never flown first-class.
“Merry Christmas,” she said.
I looked over my shoulder. I thought I heard Joel Osteen saying, Expect good things. It was creepy, but in a very good way.
When I got to O’Hara, my next flight was delayed another hour. I was on the phone with my sister when the ticket agent called my name over the intercom.
“Gotta go,” I said. “I’ll call you back.”
The agent issued me a new ticket. A seat in first-class all the way to Portland. I called Sister Tater, whooping and hollering. “Can you believe it?”
“This will make a great story for my Sunday School class,” she said, laughing right along with me. “It’s a pay-it-forward moment.”
Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I only know that moments before I boarded that flight out of Raleigh, another woman had called out my name. It was the waitress. She was holding out the receipt.
“Did you mean to write this?” she asked, nervously pointing to the tip amount.
“Yes,” I said, quietly, embarrassed that she had to seek me out to confirm it.
She clutched the receipt to her chest and began to sob, right there in front of God and everybody. Oh. Brother.
“You have no idea what this means to me,” she said. Then, she threw her arms around my neck and cried some more.
“God told me to bless you with this,” I whispered.
She was right, though. I had no idea what that gift would mean to her. I didn’t know the woman or what her needs may have been. I only know that being a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants-kinda-gal who believes without question that when the prompting comes I better pay attention means that I get to see life through a first-class window seat every day.
[Editor's note: The following column ran in the FayObserver.com last year during my visit back to Oregon for Christmas. I am running it again because so many people wrote to me to say how much they loved this story. My dear friend Connie passed away in June following a valiant battle with breast cancer. Connie loved Christmas. She once left a Christmas tree up until Valentine's Day. As far as she was concerned everyday was a good day to celebrate Jesus.
What I didn't say when I first wrote this column is that while traveling on Christmas Eve, I was carrying a large piece of artwork that had been auctioned off on my blog. Created by artist Stacey Howell of Fairhope, Ala., who donated it in an effort to help raise funds for Connie after her husband rec'd word that his job of 30 years was being eliminated. I had to hand carry the piece all the way from North Carolina to Oregon.
I realized later that all those first-class seats had nothing to do with the waitress. It was God's way of ensuring that I got that painting to the person who bought it safely. That person then turned around and donated the artwork to Connie, who cherished this Fountain of Hope. Connie & I had a good laugh over that. Merry Christmas to each of you. Whether new friend or old, you are a blessing to me.]
Alabama, blessing, Breast Cancer, Connie Henricks, Fairhope, Jesus, Merry Christmas, Stacey Howell, view
Beautiful story Karen.
Hubert and I were blessed with unexpected first class seats on our return trip from Hawaii several year ago. We were told that if we gave up our original flight seats and waited 45 minutes for the next flight we would be sent home first class. It was great! In spite of having to change planes in Texas, we arrived back in Atlanta an hour earlier than originally scheduled. God is good! We did someone a good turn and were blessed in return.
MERRY CHRISTMAS to you and all your family.
Richard and Shannon are coming over from Birmingham in the morning after he makes rounds at the hospital. We will stay the weekend out at the cabin on the lake (that is almost overflowing from the frequent rains we have had lately).
We will probably make a fire in the fireplace.
Hubert and I spent Christmas Eve in 1970 by ourselves in front of the fire place with two red socks hanging from the mantle. At 87, I have so many wonderful memories and so many wonderful friends. Time is flying for me and I have so many things I want to do in the time i have left. I treasure your friendship, which came from the personal tragedies we shared with each other.
This is probably not the appropriate place for posting this, just delete it after you read it. Time for me to go to bed now..look what time it is in Georgia!!
Love,
Lillian
Lillian: I was so hoping I would hear from you. I’m glad to know Richard and Shannon are coming over. I miss seeing you, miss the trips to the cabin to feed the catfish, & I miss Hubert and his great stories. I still laugh over those cows dropping. Thank you for being such a faithful friend to me over the years. I hope to see you in March. Hugs to you, Merry Christmas. Love, Karen