Spirit Sighting: on the way to Midway

I was sure my elbows were permanently damaged from pulling the navy blue suitcase up and down the long ramps that connected all the trains I needed to take to get through Chicago to Midway Airport. The luggage was nearly half my size and stuffed with at least eight pairs of shoes—just in case. I was lucky to be lugging it, since I didn't have a suitcase of my own the day before and my co-worker Vicki didn't want me to buy a new one as much as I didn't want to, since we both agreed that suitcase shopping was depressing, so she lent me hers. It was huge and I was very excited to bring as many clothing options as this baby could hold, that was, until I had to pull my own weight.

I left at 5:00 am to catch my 7:40 flight and I was standing on the train platform when my plane was boarding. I called David and woke him up at 4:40 am California time to give him the good news.

“It’s Thanksgiving travel, Jessica!” he cracked out of his sleepy voice, trying to whisper loud enough so I could hear him without waking his roommates. He was at the Society of Biblical Literature conference in San Diego and shacking up with his buddies to save on the cost of a hotel room and sharing a double bed with a man named Tim who liked to sprawl. “You might not be able to book another flight! What time did you leave?”

“5 am! The trains are running late, the transfers are killing me and this bag weighs a thousand pounds!” I should’ve called a limo. I wish we could afford a limo.

“And my cell phone is dying,” I added.

He moaned, “Jess!” which I interpreted as, “Are you the most irresponsible person in the world?”

Just then a trained pulled up, I pressed the cell phone into my shoulder and heaved the beast and I inside. “I think I just stepped on the wrong train,” I said after the doors closed. It was a pink line and I needed the orange. David sighed. “Well it looks like I may spend Thanksgiving in Chicago…” Adding a nervous, "heh, heh" like I was trying to joke, but my heart dropped into my shoes when he silently agreed with me.

“Call Southwest,” he finally said.

I breathed again knowing there was a little hope.

Back on the orange line I sat listening to my cell phone’s low battery beep while I was on hold waiting to talk to a Southwest representative. “Did you know that every four minutes people switch the nostrils they breathe out of? Why don’t you take a moment to calm yourself and relax before your representative attends your call.”

Yes, why don’t I. It sure would be embarrassing to go home and tell everyone I spent Thanksgiving alone because I missed my plane. But what really worried me was the thought of my elbows dislocating on the way home and the long-term pain I would have to explain to the doctors--it was a really heavy suitcase--yes, eight pairs of shoes--do you know how long the ramp is at 56 and Cermack?

Beep.

Breathe.

Beep.

Breathe.

The doors flung open at Pulaski. A large young man stepped on the train, locked eyes with me and smiled a goofy sort of smile. Great.

“Do you speak Polish?” he asked.

“No.”

“What about Italian?”

“No.”

“What language do you speak?”

Beep.

“English. And a little bit of Spanish.”

I would have ignored him had I not just been reading the Episcopal bishop Katherine Jefferts Schori’s book, A Wing and a Prayer, where she reminded us that we are all connected in the body of Christ, that God cares about even the least of these—especially the stranger—and we have something to learn from everyone.

“Como se parla?”

“What?”

“What is your name? in Spanish,” he said.

OK, so maybe I wasn't going to learn Spanish from this guy.

“Oh, you mean Como te llamas?” I said.

“Yeah, como te llamas?”

Beep.

“Me llamo Jessica. Como te llamas?”

“Me llamo Roberto.”

“How come you don’t speak Polish?” Robert asked me.

“I really don’t like learning languages,” I said.

“Polish is easy. Here’s how you say hello—cześć. Here’s how you say goodbye—do zobaczenia!

“You like languages…”

“Yes!”

“Did you study them in school?”

“No. I just picked it up.”

Beep.

“Southwest, how may I help you?” It was almost a miralce. I put my finger up in the air so Robert would wait and rapidly told the woman on the other end that I was not going to make my 7:40 flight, hoping and praying my phone's bye bye jingle was at least another minute away. “You can fly standby at 8:30 for no extra charge,” she said.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” My blood pressure dropped enough for me to promise myself another cup of coffee to celebrate.

“Where are you going,” asked Robert after I hung up.

“To California. My husband and son are there with the in-laws.”

The train made its last stop at Midway.

“That’s a big bag you got there,” he said.

“Yeah, I got it.”

He turned to me and I saw a light flicker in his eyes. “As soon as I saw you today, God told me I needed to help you. Let me carry your bag,” he said and lifted my suitcase with ease. “Too many people just care about money, money, money. That’s not what it’s all about. It’s all about love and helping one another out, Jessica.”

Robert carried my suitcase all the way to the airport’s escalator where he stopped and held out his finger to me, in a hand that held his lunch, which I shook and then he added, “sorry I could only give you my finger to shake because I have all this stuff in my hands.”

“That’s okay, Robert.”

He smiled big and beautiful, set down the suitcase and said, “do zobaczenia!”