| THOSE WHO WALK WITH GOD WON'T RUN FROM PEOPLE'S NEEDS. 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 7 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 and said, "Right about now, I usually say a prayer. I ask 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 6 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!" |