Meet Cute #3: The Protector
Have you ever met someone that makes you feel safe and secure? This safety and security allows you to let down your guard and, well, cry ugly snot-nosed tears beside them while sailing in the skies on a trans-atlantic flight?
Sounds like a terrifying nightmare, right?
It’s funny how you don’t know you need safety and security until you experience it. We tell ourselves, “I’m fine. It’s fine. We’re all fine.”
We insist we’re coping. We strive to convince ourselves we can do this on our own.
We repeat these “I’m fine” mantras out loud. Until one person comes along.
The one person providing protection, perfect for our imperfection. This person’s presence silently voices what we all know. We are not fine…and that’s ok.
If you’ve never felt this protection before, if you’re currently craving some safety and security, come with me. I’d love to introduce you to the man I met: the Protector in the Sky.
Two years ago, I traveled to the U.K. for Spring Break. My friend and I needed an international trip to feed our souls.
After a week of exploring sea salt cliffs in Wales and spotting castles on a hill – yes, Ed Sheeran sings about this phenomenon and it’s real. After making friends with ole’ Ben and Abbey – that’s Big Ben and Westminster Abbey for those of you not on a first name basis with the historic sites of London. After all of the life giving exploration, our holiday ended. My friend and I boarded our respective flights home.
I found my seat a few rows from the back of the plane. A 10+ hour flight ahead of me. A woman situated to the left of me, and an empty seat to the right of me. Secretly, I hoped that seat would remain empty. Oh, to gain some extra leg room!
My hopes dashed, a man in his mid forties sat next to me. He smiled silently. No words. Just calm.
Different from everyone, he watched shows with one earbud in. He stood to stretch his legs often, never antsy, just matter of fact. He requested tea and coffee on the regular.
I wanted to ask him all the questions. Who is he? Where is going? Where is he coming from? I could tell he held a seal of significance.
Usually, I strike up conversations on flights without a problem. Not this time. That feeling of “I’m fine. It’s fine. We’re all fine,” kept repeating in my head. This trip felt like an escape from the vulnerability. It kept my body and mind moving so I did not have to slow down to truly ask myself how I felt.
For ten hours on a flight, I try feeding noise through my earbuds to drown out the nagging sadness, grief, and pain. Looking back, I realize, I spent a year healing from trauma. Now, on this flight sitting next to this man who drinks too much tea and half listens to his movies, my healing erupts.
I’ll never forget, I stumbled on the movie If Beale Street Could Talk. I pressed play. Shimmied my earbuds in and snuggled into a comfortably uncomfortable position. One knee wedged into the seat in front. The other knee tucked in my chest. I watched the characters closely.
Something in this story struck all the right chords at the right time. Sometimes you can’t name your feelings at the moment. Yet, a movie taps into the emotional strings making that feeling sing.
Subconsciously, this man silently sitting next to me made me feel safe enough to let out all those bottled up, unnamed emotions. Right there in seat 32d.
By the end of that movie I sobbed in the dim reading light. Shoulder shaking rib wracking sobs. I couldn’t control the salty tears. Every time I tried to stop them I snorted up more snot than my sinuses could handle. I found extra napkins stashed in the seat pocket.
No words were spoken. I kept side eyeing him to see if he watched my emotional mess unfold. He never patted my back or asked if I was ok. He barely looked at me but I knew…
He saw me. He silently sat with me, unmoving. He did not run to the bathroom – though I probably should have. He did not choose to take a standing break, his back to me, avoiding my snot-nosed ugly cry. Nope. He stayed steadfast. Calmly flipping the pages of his magazine. No anxious repulsed bone in his body.
I’d like to say that’s it. We landed and went our merry ways, but no. I tried another movie. I tried to drown out the emotions welling up and out of me. This time I picked a funny light hearted film.
A tiny minute detail ¾ of the way through this film left me undone. Shoulder shaking, rib wracking, snot nosed sobs at a family friendly flick.
He sat there yet again unshaken. Napkins from the seat pocket in front of him seamlessly shifted over to the pocket in front of me. He steadfastly flipped the pages of his magazine and sipped his tea.
I tried snuggling down further into the seat. The dim light in front of me had turned off. I tried hiding my face in my travel pillow. I drifted off to sleep.
Hours later, the flight attendant’s cart banged against a seat nearby, waking me up. A meal was being served.
We still had a solid hour in the air and the taxi drive on the tarmac. I pulled out my Bible study and pen. This routine felt right to my internal clock.
With 30 minutes left before we filtered out of the plane, this steady man broke our silence.
“Is that for your job?” He nodded towards my Bible study with sprawling notes littering the large margins.
“This?” I point to the highlighted written-on book.
“Yeah, I thought maybe you were speaking at a conference or teaching at one or something,” he calmly spoke.
“Oh no!” I laughed. “That would be amazing if I got paid to speak internationally about Jesus!”
“Yeah, I guess…I just assumed…I don’t know. I’ve never seen someone write all over their Bible like that before. My wife and I go to church in our city. We enjoy it. Our kids enjoy it.”
We paused the conversation as the plane engine roared. The tires hit the tarmac.
I asked some questions about his family, his church, his job. He vaguely answered my questions, offering genuine answers without telling me details.
He turned the conversation back to me. Me being me, I told him more than he probably wanted to know.
I’m a teacher. I work with high school students from all over the world. They are often new to the United States. The reasons they come here rattle me. My students’ stories change my world view. It has shaken and shaped me.
People in front of us stand to get their belongings from the overhead compartments. Just enough room for him to stand in the aisle, he gently gets down my carryon suitcase. He tells me the hidden route through the airport to the Garrett Popcorn kiosk before it closes. He Steadies me from the hours of emotional sobbing I previously let out.
About five minutes of silence falls between us as we wait. He turns and reaches into his briefcase.
“Here, this is for you,” he hands me a coin larger than a quarter. I glance down at it quickly.
“What…?” I begin to say.
“It’s given to those who rise above in their field, who achieve great things. I can tell by the way you speak and live, you deserve this.” His eyes lock with mine for the first time. They smile at me as he nods, “Take it and show your students.”
“I….” my eyes glance back down at this challenge coin. “…don’t… know what to say…” as I read the ensignia printed on the gold coin: US Air Marshal – Dallas Field Office.
I glance back up to thank him, and he’s gone. I lost sight of him in the mix of passengers filling the aisle.
Did I imagine him? How did he know I deserved this coin? How did he know to honor me with this gift in this moment? We barely even spoke. I never asked his name.
This moment shifted something in me. It gave me space to recognize I was not as fine as I preached to myself. I needed to uncover some coping mechanisms in place for years. Trust me, I went home and unpacked all the things with my counselor.
More than anything, he provided an unspoken protected space for me to be imperfect. In those ten hours he provided a steadfast safety for me to let down my guard that I had kept up for years.
He helped me remember what protection feels like. I did not use my own skepticism or whit or defensiveness to protect myself. I could indeed freely receive protection from someone else.
I imagine, we have been telling ourselves over the past year, “I’m fine. It’s fine. We’re all fine.” If we have not spoken these words, we have heard someone speak them. It’s a common current mantra.
I’m here to say we most likely are not fine. That’s ok.
We may not have a U.S. Air Marshal who unsuspectingly sat next to us. We do have a much bigger protector who is always with us. He never leaves us or abandons us.
Snuggle into life and let out your deep grief to this eternal protector. My God silently offers us more than leftover airplane napkins tucked into the seat pocket. He offers us victory, life, joy, and hope every day.
If you’re not sure about this, just settle in for the flight and feel his steady presence protecting you. I promise He’s there.
