airplanes, evangelism, and attunement

Airplanes will always take me back to my peak evangelistic days. I was the teen who requested middle seats on flights so I would have the best chance of sharing the gospel with someone beside me. I believed the humans in the window and aisle seat were divinely placed there, and I looked for the openings to conversation no matter what.  Whether it was a cold-shouldered businessman, a midwestern grandmother, or a foreign exchange student, I spent my flights pondering their eternal souls and hoping to connect. I had hundreds of conversations, and while no one ever converted on the airplane, I learned about hundreds of people, heard hundreds of stories from hundreds of places. 

I walked through planes and airports alert, eyes up, not knowing which moments were God-ordained or which person I was meant to meet next. I always noticed how people would often stop and stare at me, and I believed it was because they could sense the Holy Spirit, whether they knew it or not. And while it sounds condescending when I say it all now, I wasn’t. I was fueled by the belief that every person I met, every single one, was as valuable as I am. Every single one was eternal. Every single one was being sought by a loving God. 

But I’ve changed since then. Barely a Christian by most Christians’ standards. Sometimes I wonder what growing up Christian did for me. Therapy has done enough to reveal the theological traumas that squelched me, but even so I know it wasn’t all bad. After all, how could a religion that holds the beauty of the Sermon on the Mount be worthless? But still, I live my life like an atheist now, or at least how I was told atheists live: I don’t pray, I don’t submit to the Bible, I don’t store up treasure in heaven. And I am content, I am happy, I am good. 

I boarded a flight this morning, and out of nowhere, I realized people were staring at me like they always used to. I’m pretty dang sure it wasn’t the Holy Spirit. What was it then? As I worked my way down the plane to row 27, I wondered. And the thought struck me: I’m still that girl. I’m still alert, I’m still wide-eyed, still looking at every person I pass and wondering about them. I still want to know their story. And I think maybe that’s still something people can sense about me wherever I go - an attunement to others, a looking deeper, an openness to connection. Not because I’m trying to save their souls anymore, but because I will never lose the value I have for their souls. 

So thank you, Christianity. Despite all the flaws, I am grateful for the way you taught me to see each and every person. I always will.