Four Plane Tickets and an Apple

We arrived at the airport when it was still dark outside. The chilliness in the air only reminded me how alone I would be mere minutes from now. My eyes were puffy to notify me that I was lacking the sleep I so desired. And my heart was pounding to the beat of Final Countdown. Each step I took brought me closer to Goliath and I so desperately wanted to turn and run away. I knew I could never be David. I felt more like a blade of grass swaying in the breeze as the roar of the lawn mower creeps closer and clos―.

            My dad sets my suitcase on the scale and the woman in uniform sticks a barcode around the handle. We embrace and I try not to look him in the eye. Tears are the last thing I need right now. “Fake it ‘til you make it.” “Be strong.” “Try not to get murdered in the process.” These are all thoughts that race through my mind in the last minute before walking into Goliath’s shadow, sling in hand. “Call me when you get through security. I’ll sit out here for a little while and wait,” my dad says. I’m not sure which one of us is more nervous. It’s time.

            My hands grip my backpack and hoist it to my shoulder as I try not to let my gait reflect how scared I am. My feet march forward and I don’t look back.  I pretend that I’ve done this a million times as I get in line for security. I only have one Father to talk to now, and that conversation is running on faith. (Do I take my belt off now or do I wait until they check my passport? That woman looks nice, but she must be tired. It’s 4am. This must be a horrible shift to have. I wonder how I can make her morning better. No – focus. When do I take my watch off? Do I have any liquids to worry about?)

            The line creeps forward. (Do I look rich? I hope not. I hope a thief would be very disappointed in me. That man up there looks nervous. He must be a terrorist. No. God, you’re protecting me, right? You want me to go to Costa Rica, right? Please keep me safe.)

            “Good morning. How are you?” says the voice in front of me. I hand her my passport. “I’m doing well. How are you?” I ask with a smile. “Good,” she replies, “Have a good flight!” My passport gets stuffed in my pocket as I take off my watch and belt. I clunk my shoes down in a bin and place my laptop in another bin. I walk forward and place my hands above my head as I get scanned. This level of security even makes me question if I am a criminal. I tie my shoelaces as a woman scolds me for leaving my laptop in its sleeve. First mission accomplished and no casualties yet. Thank you, Jesus!  

            The next step requires waiting. Sitting in a seat waiting for a plane to board should be an easy task, but it lets my mind wander with worst case scenarios. I call my dad and hope to distract myself. I talk about everything and nothing, paying no attention to the conversation but being comforted by the steady voice that reminds me I’m safe. The man across from me keeps looking at me. He must be a spy. He is going to kidnap me.

            (It’s nearly 5am. I should eat something.) I get in line at the only restaurant that seems open so early. Last time I flew, I flew on an empty stomach and felt queasy for hours. (I should probably get something more than a muffin. An apple sounds substantial. Airport food is so expensive!) My feet glide back across the hallway to the plastic blue seat. I crunch into the apple and chew. I am not hungry.

A lady’s voice comes on the speaker overhead. She informs us that the flight is overbooked and they are offering tickets and free breakfast for anyone who is willing to switch their flight. The next thirty minutes feel like an infomercial as they raise the value of the incentive and handpick victims to offer first class tickets to. It feels like the game of sharks and minnows I played as a kid. Will I make it to my seat in time, or will I be the shark’s next victim? I hear my name and a flight attendant hands me my seat number. I am safe.

            As we take off, I feel as if a crash landing would be easy compared to what I’ve already been through this morning. For the next three hours, I ride a delicate see-saw. I must drink enough water to stay hydrated but not enough to have to use the airplane bathroom. A delicate balance indeed; tightrope walkers have it easy. We come to the end of our flight, our plane lands and I exit. I’m done with the first flight of four for this trip to Costa Rica.

            I walk to my next gate pretending to know where I’m going. I attempt to look like a woman on a mission. No one preys on a woman on a mission. I arrive just as they start boarding. My throat feel like the Sahara from all the walking. I need water. I sit in seat 23A unharmed. I talk to Jesus as we take off. I can’t believe that I’m facing my worst fear and I haven’t died yet. My mind finally is waking up and I realize that I’ve been up for hours. My eye lids grow heavy and I drift off to sleep.

            When I wake up, I look at my watch. I thought we were supposed to land an hour ago. (I never trusted that male flight attendant or his female sidekicks. It must be an inside job. They knew that a bunch of tourists, going to Costa Rica, would bring money for souvenirs. We must actually be flying to Cuba as captives. There is no hope for us!)

            “Hello, this is your captain speaking. The seatbelt sign will go on in just a few minutes, so this is your last chance to get up and walk around the cabin. We will be starting our descent in a few minutes and should be touching down in San José in about twenty minutes. Thank you for flying United.” We’re saved. Thank you, Jesus! I made it to Costa Rica and now I can start the part that made all this trouble worth it to me: being an intern.

            The awaiting faces of my missionary friends in Costa Rica could not have been more welcome. Facing one’s worst fear does make one hope for a friendly face on the other side. I have six weeks before I have to worry about flying again. However, six weeks goes a lot faster than one thinks it does. Five weeks, four weeks, three weeks, two weeks, six days - my panic sets in again - one day, three hours…it’s time.

            I say my goodbyes and my heart feels heavy. I won’t see a friendly face again until the stars shine in the sky. My adventure has ended, but one last hurdle waits for me to jump. My heart still pounds as I place my un-sleeved laptop in the bin, but my mind is at ease because I have done this before.

               I walk through the airport. As I head to retrieve my luggage and meet the smiling faces of my family members, I ask myself why I have so much fear of the people around me. They are just people, in fact. The woman passing me is probably a business woman. She is probably bringing her briefcase full of notes to a room full of business people eager for knowledge. That man up ahead is probably a father to three sweet children. He is probably rushing home, ready to hear a unison chorus of “DADDY!” And what about that couple that was on my plane, and is now walking behind me? They are probably heading to see their first skyscrapers with Spanish/English dictionary in hand.

I slow my pace as I feel the light bulb go on. I’ve just spent six weeks in Costa Rica studying Jesus’ life. My eyes are opened and I start to look at the people around me as Jesus would. He wouldn’t be scared of them. He wouldn’t see the bad in them either. He would love them. I realize that my fear is getting in the way of loving these people as Jesus would. I notice that my heart is beating hard again, but this time it’s to the tune of I Will Survive. I have no fear. It must be true that fear is the opposite of love. I only have room for one. If I really love others as Jesus did, I will have no fear of man. It’s amazing what love can do. When I started this journey I felt as if one mean glance could send a bullet through my heart and claim its casualty, but now I feel as if I am the one with the weapon and my weapon is love. I don’t ask how I can avoid eye contact, I ask how I can make someone’s day a little brighter. I don’t ask who’s going to prey on me, I ask who I can be Jesus to. It took six weeks and conquering one of my worst fears to realize it, but perfect love casts out fear. That may not be the most valuable lesson in the world, but it was a lesson worth four plane tickets and an apple!