I sat down to tuck myself in to the smallest corner of the terminal waiting area. I was about an hour and a half early for my boarding time on the small plane that would take me back home. Chicago is a big airport, and I was in one of the tiniest pockets of it. But this tiny pocket was already fermenting with anger.
I’m an introvert by nature, and an extreme introvert when I travel. I cocoon myself within headphones, good music, and a comfortable hoodie; and I either nap, catch up on some good shows, or work away uninterrupted. But, in this tiny pocket of the airport I picked up on the anger almost as soon as I sat down.
A few chairs down from me an older lady was ranting. Talking to whomever would listen. Speaking thoughts and four-letter words about why people couldn’t be kind. It took me a few minutes to conceive of the issues at hand. She wasn’t just angry; she was angry at the man sitting across from her. Apparently he had failed - when she left to use the restroom - to guard her stuff and her seat that she wanted to sit in, Her treasured seat had been taken by another lady who knew nothing of what was taking place.
The older lady had lots of words. Lots of four-letter words. All directed at the man across from her, and after several minutes of berating he finally raised his head to exclaim, “Ma’am, it is illegal to leave your bags unattended.” I had never heard that statement uttered outside of a robotic announcement voice, but I believed I’d heard it enough to know it was true. The lady didn’t agree.
In the midst of her four-letter words she began to ask, “What about God’s law? What about the law of kindness?” Followed by more heated words popping out like champagne after the Super Bowl.
To spare the length of the story, the man eventually stood up and left the area, which didn’t diffuse the woman’s anger. At that point she turned her emotion onto the woman who had taken her chair, and then to another woman who was talking about business with that woman. Her anger didn’t end. When someone finally threatened to call security, the righteous angry lady jumped to her feet with an outpouring of new four-letter words and informed the crowd she would be glad to converse with security if someone would just call them.
No one did.
And then it happened.
In the midst of her anger, something else spilled out. Not from her mouth, but from her eyes. Tears. And then a few more words. Words about a brother - her brother - and hospice care. And watching this brother die. And just wanting to go home to West Virginia.
She was wreaking hell. And she was enduring hell. And those two things were deeply tied together.
———
In our church, we have groups who gather regularly to ask each other two questions. “What is God saying?” And, “what are you going to do about it?”
In that moment, I knew the answers to that first question. God was saying, ask her her story. Move closer and ask her if she’d like to talk. Tell her you’d be happy to listen.
The answer to the second question, “What was I going to do about it?” was much harder.
———
I wish I had spoken to that lady. I wish I could tell you I moved closer and spent time listening, caring, and praying for this lady. I wish I could tell you I entered into her pain and absorbed some of what she was facing.
In reality, I didn’t.
I had thoughts of her intimidating presence. I wondered if she would turn anger toward me. I wondered what the people around me would think. And I failed to respond.
And I missed the moment for a better story.
Not a better story of my own, but the better story she needed. She needed kindness in that moment. She needed presence. She needed words that asked her to share her brokenness, not hide it. And I failed. And for the past week and a half I’ve regretted it.
———
Friends, part of the Better Story movement is understanding we are surrounded with opportunities every, single day to be present with the hurting around us. This is why I follow Jesus — he entered the fray. He stepped up to evil, embraced anger, absorbed pain, and paved the way for BETTER to happen in the lives of all those he touched.
So maybe this story today is my penance and confession. Maybe it’s the opportunity to make my failure public for the sake of accountability in the next airport. Maybe it’s just an opportunity to feel better about my guilt.
For whatever it’s worth, I’d like to let that lady know her story matters. And yours does too, whatever hell you’re facing.