I rarely travel alone, but this trip required it. I was flying out to speak twice, then return the next afternoon.

Hoping to make my connections, get to a fundraiser, sleep, preach in the morning and still catch my flight home, I booked an aisle seat. As I settled in, a woman walked down the aisle, glancing between her ticket and the window seat beside me.

“Can we switch seats? I’d like to sit here.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I’ve got a tight connection.”

She muttered and dropped into the window seat. Clearly, she was having a forgettable day. The muttering continued. She struggled to remove her jacket in the cramped space. I remembered my mother’s frequent advice.

“Can I help you with your coat?” I asked.

She turned, surprised.

“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”

It’s a Living

The last of the overhead bins slammed shut and the plane pushed back from the gate. The city below shrank into neat grids, then disappeared beneath a blanket of clouds.

She turned and apologized for her behaviour.

“I’m just so upset with everything going on in the world,” she said. “The news is horrible. I guess I shouldn’t watch it.”

I nodded.

“I understand,” I said. “I’m Phil.”

“I’m Anna,” she said.

“Are you headed home?”

“Yes. I was visiting my daughter and granddaughter.”

“I bet you have pictures,” I said.

“Sure do,” she laughed, pulling out her phone.

Sunlight poured through the window, soft and steady above the clouds. We compared photos and talked of giggling grandchildren. This opened the door for her to talk of a lifelong struggle with depression.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That was my mom’s major battle. It’s so hard.”

She was raised in a church but hadn’t returned in years. “Ladies gossiped about me,” she said. “They were horrible. I don’t need more grief in my life. I’ve had bad experiences with Christians.”

“Me, too,” I smiled.

I told her of some of my challenges, but how my wife and I are still in church, taking baby steps.

“We’ve found amazing people there,” I said. She nodded thoughtfully.

“Are you a preacher?”

I smiled. “No,” I said. “I make people laugh for a living. Then tell them that Jesus saved my soul and saved my life.”

She seemed to like that. We fell quiet for a moment, watching clouds drift beneath us.

“You probably know the verses better than I do,” I said. “But I think it comes down to this: ‘For it is by grace we have been saved, through faith. It’s a gift of God. It’s not of works, ’cause we’d just boast about that.”

“Yes,” she said softly. “That’s it. I love that.”

“I make people laugh for a living. Then tell them that Jesus saved my soul and saved my life.” PHIL CALLAWAY

“So He Sent You”

Clouds gave way to patchwork fields as the plane began its descent.

“Are you speaking somewhere?” she asked.

“I am. I’ll be at a church in the morning.”

“Where?” she asked.

I poked around my briefcase and found the address. She knew the church.

“I’ll be there,” she said.

I’d heard that before. So, imagine my surprise during the sound check when there stood Anna, smiling. She stayed for the service, sitting quietly as I shared my own struggles to hang on to faith when my world was falling apart. The long days when hope seemed out of reach. How, thanks to Jesus, we’d found enough light for the next step on a sometimes dismal road.

Afterward, Anna couldn’t stop smiling.

“You don’t know what happened here today,” she said, shaking her head, unable to finish the sentence. Then she smiled. “God knew I needed someone, so He sent you.”

Then she added, “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t helped me with my coat.”

I’ve never forgotten her words.

Any one of us can do that.