One More Chance

First things first, I’m typing this post in an airplane. And get this … I’m high up in the sky on my sixth airplane ride this year, but I’m not high. Go ahead, take a minute or two, read those words again … now you get it, eh? For those of you who are newer to The Tree House, I flew on a plane for the first time in 24 years back in April to go to Canada to visit Matt, Becca and Coraline. And I took a very strong dose of … ummmmmm … some extra special medicine to make me not so nervous. And then I did perhaps one of the smartest things I’ve ever done in my entire life … I wrote a blog post while I was higher than a kite … literally. If you need a chuckle or two today, you should go back and read it … seriously … I was higher than a kite when I wrote it. Sorry to disappoint those of you who were looking forward to “High Terrie, Part Two” today … no mind-altering drugs today … well … except for the ones I take every day, I suppose. Yes, I’ve been nervous and scared and queasy and all of those things, but not having someone else along to lead me from plane to plane like Brad did on my previous trip meant that I needed not to be loopy this time around. Well … loopier than I am every day, I suppose. And you know what? I did it ... all by myself. So there. (If I weren’t in a plane, I’d stomp my foot for emphasis but I wouldn’t want to dislodge the landing gear or for my cowboy boot to punch a hole in the floor and cause the cabin to depressurize or … wait … let’s go back to the I did it all by myself part and call it good.

My friend Debbie took me to the airport really early this morning … that’s a true friend, you know, one who will get up before dawn to drive a very anxious crazy old woman who is terrified to fly to the airport. I was freaked out about checking my luggage … oh, good grief, who am I kidding? I was freaked out about every possible thing I could freak out about … checking my luggage, having my passport and boarding pass ready, finding the right gate, peeing and/or, heaven forbid, pooping, getting my carry-on bag into the overhead compartment, making sure I was in the right seat, not throwing up … well … you get the picture. But for all the things I freaked out about this morning, the one thing I never gave one minute’s worth of freak-out time to was which of my fellow passengers was going to have the extreme pleasure of sitting next to me on the hour and a half-long flight from Kansas City to Minneapolis … nope, I never thought for one second about my future seatmate.

His name is Chance … and yes, I swear that’s his name … no, really, I double pinky-swear the kid’s name is Chance … and he’s 18 years old. He is travelling to Wisconsin to see his girlfriend, and he’ll be there until the middle of January. He’s lived in a lot of different places, including Germany, because his father is in the military. He’s polite, kind, courteous and respectful, and he has a great smile. We chatted for pretty much the whole flight, small talk for the first few minutes, but then the conversation shifted to a more serious subject and when it did, I knew there wasn’t another person on that completely full-to-capacity airplane that I was supposed to sit next to this morning. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that I was meant to sit next to a young man with long hair that hung down across his soulful eyes and touched his shoulders. I was meant to sit next to a young man wearing baggy cargo pants and a well-worn hooded sweatshirt. I was meant to sit next to a young man with piercings in his lips that were adorned with rather large rings. I was meant to sit next to Chance … no one else … I was meant to sit next to a young man named Chance on a plane from Kansas City to Minneapolis today, December 18, 2013.

We talked about the pain of being judged by your appearance. We talked about being true to who you are. We talked about how much it hurts when people who once loved you love you no more. We talked about the importance of laughter and living every moment as though it could be your last. We talked about being real and honest and genuine in every part of your life. We talked about looking past the outside of a person and seeing the heart that beats within. I believe I may have learned one of the greatest lessons of my entire life during those 90 minutes I spent with Chance this morning … it wasn’t by chance that I sat by Chance this morning … it wasn’t by chance at all.

When the flight landed, Chance stood and took my coat and my carry-on bag out of the overhead compartment and handed them to me while a well-dressed businessman brushed past an elderly woman on the opposite side of the plane who was struggling with her bags. That’s right … the guy who looked like he just stepped off the cover of Forbes magazine almost knocked that little old lady down as he huffed and rudely pushed by her. But the young man with the long shaggy hair, baggy pants, worn-out hoodie and lip piercings politely and quietly got my bag and coat for me, told me to have a wonderful vacation and to enjoy my time with my granddaughter, and gave me a fist-bump when we parted. I think perhaps I’m the one who needs to read the signs … perhaps I’m the one who needs to learn the lessons … perhaps I’m the one who needs to absorb the truths … perhaps I’m the one who needs to listen with my ears wide open, friends … perhaps I’m the one who needs to listen indeed.

So to you, young Chance … thank you for blessing me this morning … your kindness and compassion touched my soul … your courage and bravery inspired my heart … your honesty and realness ignited my spirit. In roughly an hour, I’ll be landing in Canada and kissing my sweet granddaughter’s soft little cheeks. And when she’s old enough to understand, I’ll tell her the story of a boy I met on a plane on a special Christmas journey to see her … a boy who makes me want to try harder, to do more, to be a better person. I’ll tell her the story of you, Chance … I’ll tell her the story of you.