> Right before the jetway 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 the 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
> that it
> was important that he put his seat belt on. 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
jetway.
> All
> the noises of the airport seemed to fill the corridor.
>
> Michael stopped, slipping 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.
>
> ~By Jerry Seiden~
>
> Well, what did you think? Needed some Kleenex didn't you.
>
> My computer is old and won't handle sending Kleenex --
>
> sorry.
>
> God bless us everyone
>