A Divine Encounter

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After learning of my husband’s death, my journey home was extremely difficult. Boarding the plane that would take me back to Iowa, I could barely put one foot in front of the other.

Once I got to my seat, I realized I had a problem. How was I going to hoist my bag into the overhead bin? I don’t have great upper-body strength on a good day, and this was the worst day of my life.

Standing in the aisle, I didn’t know what to do. Taking a deep breath, I lightly tapped the shoulder of the man closest to me, asking if he would mind helping. Immediately, I regretted making the request. Although he began to rise, the imposition I was causing was written all over his face.

That’s when I heard a male voice behind me saying, “Give it to me.”

            The words were spoken kindly, yet with authority—as though he’d seen the other man’s reluctance and was taking over. Turning around, I saw a taller gentleman with a kind face gesturing toward my luggage. I recall just standing there looked at him, incapable of knowing how to step out of the way so he could pick up my carry-on. Without hesitation, he simply reached past me, lifting the thirty pound bag above my head and into the overhead compartment, as if it weighed nothing.

I was in such a daze, I’m not sure I even thanked him. But as I stepped back to my seat, I saw the man was standing directly behind my seat. His features were pleasant, in a non-descript sort of way. For a minute, I remember thinking he seemed familiar, as though perhaps he was one of my husband’s friends I’d met somewhere along the way.

Then, looking at me with such a caring expression, he said, “Are you okay?”

You know what it’s like when someone asks, “How are you?” You could be going through something extremely difficult, but you give the standard answer everyone else seems to give. You respond with either “Good,” or “Fine.” Something short and sweet—a polite exchange without much meaning. After all, who really wants to hear a litany of our woes?

However, after what I’d been through I was incapable of polite niceties. Tears beginning to fall, I shook my head, saying, “No. I’m not okay. My husband died this morning.”

That’s when he did something truly extraordinary. Reaching across the seat between us, he pulled me into a gentle yet firm embrace. But it wasn’t just a hug. He actually held me for several seconds while I cried against his shoulder. Somehow it didn’t feel strange at all, only deeply comforting. Once I calmed a bit, he leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Everything’s going to be okay.”

I pulled away, tears streaming down my face. Incredibly touched by his tenderness, I said, “My husband would be so thankful for how kind you’ve been to me.”

Funny how so much of the trip—two plane rides, a lay-over, even sitting on the second plane over an hour for “De-icing”—is all such a blur. Yet this encounter stands out in distinct detail. It’s one of my go-to memories now, that helps me when I’m feeling particularly overwhelmed.

You see, those words were exactly what Charlie said to me over and over again throughout our 28+ years of marriage. When I was having a meltdown, he would wrap his arms around me and whisper, “Everything’s going to be okay.” Words that always soothed my soul, even when I didn’t have a clue how they could ever be true. He was reminding me that we were a team—how together we would get through whatever we were facing.

Only now he was gone, and I didn’t know how I was going to make it through anything ever again.

Once I was finally sitting down the tears came in earnest. You know how sometimes another’s kindness can be your undoing? Then, a flight attendant came, crouching down beside me. She told me the gentleman behind me let her know about my “situation.” Helping me with my things, she moved me forward in the plane, placing me in business class.

Despite the kindness of compassionate strangers, it was a terrible flight. I was constantly crawling over my seatmate to go to the bathroom either to sob in relative privacy or to vomit. The news of Charlie’s death came out of the blue and I was beyond stressed.

Finally, the plane landed and one by one the passengers began to leave. I, however, was standing beside the flight attendant at the front of the plane. The kind woman had urged me forward, then realized my suitcase was still at the back of the plane. I would have to wait until the plane cleared. I began looking for the man who’d been so kind to me so I could once again thank him. However, once everyone had gone, the man was nowhere in sight. He would have had to walk right past me since I was standing up front facing the aisle. Was it possible I got distracted and somehow missed him? Perhaps.

Still, it didn’t make sense after such kindness that he wouldn’t at least tell me goodbye. Later, I began to wonder—could the man have been an angel? Re-playing the whole exchange, I believe there is a strong possibility he was exactly that. I had sensed God’s nearness, but sometimes we need someone “with skin on.” Whether he was indeed an angel or whether he was simply an incredibly kind and intuitive person, it is clear God used him to minister to me.

I thank God for sending someone to comfort me when I needed it most. It’s a memory I will cherish forever. However, let’s face it, it’s not every day we have an angelic-like encounter. But the truth is, we can always turn to the Voice calling our names. We can fling the door of our hearts wide-open, answering the persistent knock of our Savior. The One who longs to gather us in His arms and whisper in our ear, “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Even when you don’t see a glimmer of hope on the horizon, run to the God of the impossible. To the One who has the power to give you a peace and a joy that no one else can give. Regardless of what you’re going through, know this: you are loved with an everlasting love.

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