Fourteen hours is a long time to be on a plane. I wanted to be sure to ask for an aisle seat at check-in, but my luggage was too heavy (this was on the way there). In a crazy rush to move some of my things into a team member’s suitcase, I forgot to ask for the aisle seat. As usual, I was stuck in the middle. To my left was Quinn, a young man traveling to Ukraine, and to my right was a friendly man from Latvia whose name I did not catch.
I introduced myself as a missionary, and Quinn introduced himself as an agnostic. I told Quinn, “Oh, you should not sit next to me.” Witnessing comes naturally, and this day was no different. Quinn was polite as I shared stories and photos from past missionary trips. He was on his way to visit an orphanage and teach the children to play the ukulele. I told him, “You are already doing God’s work — you just don’t realize it yet.” What a wonderful young man with a beautiful heart.
He was tired and wanted to sleep, so he purchased a product that is the opposite of Red Bull — something called Dream Water.
I hated to be the one to break the news to him that perhaps this was a placebo, he agreed but drank it anyway.
Quinn and I are facebook friends and he is being used of God in a loving outreach to these young orphans.
The gentleman to my right was desperately trying to explain that the dream vacation on the Greyhound bus was a disaster. So bad the experience that he had to rent a car half way through the trip. He said, in broken English that the bus was dirty and old and that no one should get on this bus. I had no idea that Greyhound offered excursions to people from Latvia. I shared with him that most people drive to see the Grand Canyon. He was sadly disappointed and I almost offered to write a letter of complaint to Greyhound but quickly came to my senses.
On the way back we had a short layover in Istanbul, of all the millions of people I noticed a young man in a green shirt without arms.
I hated to be the one to break the news to him that Dream Water was perhaps a placebo — he agreed but drank it anyway.
Quinn and I are Facebook friends, and he is being used by God in a loving outreach to these young orphans.
The gentleman to my right was desperately trying to explain that his dream vacation on a Greyhound bus had been a disaster — so bad, in fact, that he had to rent a car halfway through the trip. He said, in broken English, that the bus was dirty and old and that no one should ever get on it. I had no idea that Greyhound offered excursions to people from Latvia. I shared with him that most people drive to see the Grand Canyon. He was sorely disappointed, and I almost offered to write a letter of complaint to Greyhound — but quickly came to my senses.
On the way back, we had a short layover in Istanbul. Of all the millions of people around me, my eyes landed on a young man in a green shirt — without arms.
I hated to be the one to break the news to him that Dream Water was perhaps a placebo — he agreed but drank it anyway.
Quinn and I are Facebook friends, and he is being used by God in a loving outreach to these young orphans.
The gentleman to my right was desperately trying to explain that his dream vacation on a Greyhound bus had been a disaster — so bad, in fact, that he had to rent a car halfway through the trip. He said, in broken English, that the bus was dirty and old and that no one should ever get on it. I had no idea that Greyhound offered excursions to people from Latvia. I shared with him that most people drive to see the Grand Canyon. He was sorely disappointed, and I almost offered to write a letter of complaint to Greyhound — but quickly came to my senses.
On the way back, we had a short layover in Istanbul. Of all the millions of people around me, my eyes landed on a young man in a green shirt — without arms.
I asked for an aisle seat and was granted the request. The doors to the Boeing 777 were locked, and I looked over at my friend Jane with a smirky smile. “I have the whole row to myself.” Just as I settled in, the armless man arrived with a companion. “We will sit here,” they told me. I answered with a smile, “Okay, but you just ruined my trip home.” They sat down, and we had a wonderful conversation about missionary work.
The young man without arms is a refugee from Afghanistan, being escorted by a representative from the United Nations to Oregon. Instantly, the young man and I hugged with our eyes — he was so friendly and sweet. I asked him if he had lost his arms in the war, and he smiled and said he was born that way. His companion was unaware of this and was surprised to find out.
When the food cart was about ready to come down the aisle, the UN representative kindly asked if I could move to the window seat. I hesitated — no, no, I just wanted to stay put — but then he mentioned there was an aisle seat just a few rows back. I looked and saw a very handsome man sitting next to his equally beautiful girlfriend and said, “That guy is too big — that is not going to work for me.” Then it hit me like a ton of bricks: this young man eats with his feet, and he was going to knee me, not elbow me. I glanced over just as his big toe was changing the monitor and said, “I will move back.” They were both happy.
I went to sit next to Joe and his girlfriend and explained the situation to them — and then the witnessing began. I told them about my encounter with the demon-possessed girl, and that got their attention immediately. Joe mentioned that his parents were devout Catholics who attended daily Mass. He, on the other hand, was angry at the Church and stated that he would never return. I told him plainly that his parents are praying for him and that God will answer their prayers. He and his girlfriend were gracious, and I probably put them to sleep.
Still, I know that everyone I met on that journey received a seed. To Quinn — a seed of servanthood for God. To the armless man — a seed of welcome to America. To his UN companion — a seed of love. And to Joe and his girlfriend — a seed that was already planted and simply needed watering.