The Gift of an Imperfect Christmas

Several years ago I received an unexpected Christmas gift.

It was Christmas of 2011. Christmas was on a Sunday that year. I had spent much of the month of December anticipating and preparing, looking forward to how wonderful Christmas was going to be for my kids and my family. As Christmas Eve approached, I had a beautiful vision in my mind of how perfect everything was going to be. The vision in my head looked something like this:

Christmas Eve would be a fun day of decorating cookies, wrapping the last of the presents, listening to Christmas music all day long, and preparing our special Christmas Eve dinner. We would enjoy a lovely dinner together as a family, have a spiritual lesson about the birth of Christ, and then my girls would get their new Christmas pajamas and we’d take our traditional Christmas Eve family photos. We’d put out cookies for Santa and the girls would be off to bed. In the morning we’d be awakened bright and early by very excited children. The girls would put on their beautiful new Christmas dresses and we’d go to church together where we’d be filled with the Spirit. Then we’d come home and have a wonderful time opening presents and spend the rest of the day relaxing together, playing with new toys, and eating lots of good food.

Sounds perfect, right?

Well, this is how it actually went:

The week before Christmas, my youngest was very sick. So I spent all day on Christmas Eve caring for a sick and miserable 18-month old who wanted to be held constantly. My day full of Christmas music turned into a day full of Barney, because that’s the only thing she wanted. So we listened to Barney. All. Day. Long. All of the Christmas preparations were done in a frenzied fashion, whenever I could squeeze a moment in between trying to console her, force medicine down her, and get her to let me put her down. By the end of the day, I was frazzled and frustrated. The kids wouldn’t touch the beautiful Christmas Eve dinner I had prepared, and our traditional Christmas Eve photos were not exactly full of smiles. By this point, our spiritual lesson had gone out the window. We decided to just put the cookies out for Santa and get the kids to bed. Just as my oldest was picking out the cookies, she said that her tummy really hurt. And then she threw up. A lot.

I was up all night, obsessively checking on my sick kids, watching for more throw-up from my 4-year-old and trying to console a feverish and miserable 18-month-old.

Sometime around 3 am, as I was worrying and fretting about my sick kids and thinking about all of my wonderful Christmas plans that had gone down the drain and all of my expectations that hadn’t been met, I found myself thinking about Mary. I had been asked to narrate the part of Mary in our church Christmas program the next morning, so she was on my mind.

I would guess that when Mary found out she would be giving birth to the Son of God, she didn’t envision that she would be giving birth far away from her home, out in a dirty stable, because there was no room for her anywhere else. Those aren’t exactly the ideal conditions for having a baby. That’s probably not what she expected.

But that is why we have Christmas. 

We have Christmas because a perfect baby was born in imperfect circumstances, in an imperfect world. 

We have Christmas because that perfect baby grew up to be a perfect man who would allow all of us to overcome our own imperfections and “be perfected in Him.” (Moroni 10:32)

We have Christmas because that perfect One loves each of us perfectly – in spite of our imperfections.

During those moments of reflection in the early Christmas morning hours, I came a lot closer to understanding what Christmas is really all about. While there are so many beautiful, wonderful things to enjoy during this season, you could take all of them away, and the real reason for Christmas – the real beauty of Christmas – would still be there. 

Without the trees, the lights, the presents, the stockings, the treats and the feasts, Christ is still there.

Without the picture-perfect family moments - even without family at all – Christ is still there.

In fact, it is actually because of the less-than-perfect moments that Jesus Christ is there. So Christmas should not only be about the beauty and wonder and joy that we see in the movies and envision in our minds. Perhaps Christmas is even more about the ugliness and heartache and despair that we encounter in this fallen world.

With all of this in mind, I didn’t feel so disappointed or upset on Christmas morning when my sick girls didn’t even remember what day it was, or when their beautiful new Christmas dresses remained hanging in the closet while I had to leave my sick family to go to church alone. It didn’t matter that the rest of Christmas day wasn’t at all what I had envisioned or expected. I threw my expectations out the window and focused on what Christmas is really all about. 

That is the wonderful gift that I received years ago. The gift of an imperfect Christmas.

The lessons of my imperfect Christmas experience that year have extended far beyond fevers, vomit, uneaten dinners, unworn dresses, and unmet expectations. Since that time, I have gone through some holidays with deep heartache. Life, as it so often does for all of us, has brought a multitude of agonizing challenges and heavy burdens. When I am struggling with disappointment or discouragement, I often reflect on the lesson I learned that Christmas. 

Sometimes in our lives we do experience the joy, the beauty, and the wonder. Sometimes we do have those picture-perfect moments that we envision in our minds.

But sometimes – often – things don’t go according to our plans, no matter how good or well thought out our plans may be. Sometimes, despite all of our righteous desires and intentions and expectations, our circumstances in life are less than ideal.

Sometimes we are disappointed. Sometimes we face discouragement, depression, and even despair.

Sometimes we must deal with sickness, pain, and disease.

Sometimes we face death and loss and consuming grief.

Sometimes we are violated or betrayed or hurt by others. 

Sometimes we mess up. 

Sometimes the people we love mess up.

Sometimes things are simply beyond our control.

Sometimes life is just not fair, and there is no reason or explanation.

Our mortal experience here on earth is far from perfect. But that is why we have Christmas: because our Heavenly Father gave us the greatest gift of all, the gift of a Savior. He gave us a Savior so that when life is imperfect and difficult and downright ugly, we can find healing and hope and we can overcome. He gave us a Savior so that despite how imperfect we are, despite how imperfect everyone around us is, despite how imperfect this world is, we can all ultimately “be perfected in Him.” (Moroni 10:32)

The gift of an imperfect Christmas that year taught me to stop chasing after holiday perfection and instead let all the imperfections and disappointments and messiness be a beautiful reminder to me of what Christmas is truly all about: why that baby was born in a stable, why we are celebrating His birth. It’s a lesson I need to remind myself of every year. It’s a lesson I need to remember throughout the entire year. 

Taking a Knee

I will be the first to admit that I am not a football fan. I simply don’t like it. Not even a little bit. I was in the marching band throughout most of my high school and college years, so I have attended more than my fair share of football games. It never grew on me.

But I’m not here to talk about why I don’t like football. I am here to talk about what I love about America. I love that in America we have the freedom to think differently, to believe differently, and to act differently. I love that in America we have the right to use our voices in a multitude of ways. I love that as Americans we can disagree and peacefully protest. 

I am also here to talk about the latest American controversy that has been all over my Facebook feed. People are fired up about this one. They are up in arms about all of the NFL players who are choosing to kneel during the national anthem.

“How dare they?!”

“The disrespect!”

“I don’t care what race you are, we are all Americans and we STAND for our flag!”

“What about the men and women who have fought and died for our country and for them?”

“They are getting paid to entertain, not to protest! They need to do that on their own time!”

People are angry. People are disgusted. People are boycotting. People are seeing these NFL players as arrogant, disrespectful, entitled tantrum-throwers.

I see it a little differently.

When I was a teacher, there was a boy in my third grade class one year who did not participate in the Pledge of Allegiance because of his religious beliefs. Every day while the rest of us stood and recited the pledge, he sat quietly in his seat. Nobody got upset about it or complained about it. There was no outrage. We all understood that he had beliefs that were important to his family that prohibited him from participating in this daily ritual. We didn’t think he was throwing a fit. We didn’t think that his family hated America. Nobody thought that he was being disrespectful or that he didn’t appreciate his freedom. On the contrary, as I observed this every day, I was filled with appreciation for the fact that he had the freedom to believe and act differently than the rest of us. Isn’t that what our flag truly stands for?

You may be thinking, “But that’s different! This is not about religious beliefs!”

These NFL protests may not be about religion, but can we consider the possibility that perhaps they are about deeply held personal beliefs that are just as valid?

During my several years of sitting in the stands during various football games, I can recall occasions where all of the players would “take a knee.” This occurred when there was an injured player on the field. It was my understanding that taking a knee was done out of respect and concern for the injured player. It brought attention to the injured player. It also kept the players from moving around, talking, or doing anything else that could get in the way or be seen as disrespectful. When players took a knee, it sent a signal to everyone that there was a serious injury. The concern would quickly spread throughout the crowd.

What if we let our defensive walls down a little bit and tried to keep that perspective in mind as we look at the football players who are currently choosing to take a knee?

Could we open our minds and hearts enough to consider that perhaps these players are taking a knee to draw attention to some serious injuries? Is there any question that our entire nation is suffering from some pretty severe wounds right now?

“But what injuries? These guys are millionaires, how dare they act like they are victims!”

I have not heard any of these NFL players claim that they personally are victims. On the contrary, I have seen several statements from players about how they are using their positions of power to give a voice to those who don’t have one. Their protest is a show of solidarity and support for others, not a statement about their own victimhood.

 Colin Kaepernick, the player at the center of this controversy, gave the following answer last year when asked about the stand he was taking with his protest and if he personally felt oppressed: “There have been situations where I feel like I’ve been ill-treated, yes. This stand wasn’t for me. This stand wasn’t because I feel like I’m being put down in any kind of way. This is because I’m seeing things happen to people that don’t have a voice, people that don’t have a platform to talk and have their voices heard, and effect change. So I’m in the position where I can do that and I’m going to do that for people that can’t.”

Miami Dolphins tight end Julius Thomas explained why he knelt during the anthem on Sunday with three of his teammates: “To have the president trying to intimidate people – I wanted to send a message that I don’t condone that. I’m not O.K. with somebody trying to prevent someone from standing up for what they think is important. Lots of people don’t have a voice, and I wanted to tell those folks that they’re not alone. I used my position to try to empower everybody who seeks equality.”

“But it’s the national anthem! Refusing to stand shows complete disrespect to our nation and to the soldiers who fought and died for their freedoms!”

Personally, I can think of no form of protest that would be more respectful than the quiet act of simply kneeling. They aren’t burning flags. They aren’t destroying anything. They aren’t shouting or chanting during the national anthem. They aren’t interrupting or mocking. They aren’t even drawing attention to themselves (the rest of us are doing a great job of that for them). Quietly kneeling is the most peaceful form of protest I can imagine. Isn’t peaceful protest exactly what we have been calling for, instead of the not-so-peaceful protests we have been seeing erupt around our nation? Isn’t the freedom to peacefully protest exactly what our servicemen and servicewomen have fought to protect?  If we compare the image of football players quietly kneeling to the image of an angry, jeering mob, can we see that there actually is a significant element of respect involved here?

“This is their job! They need to protest on their own time!”

Kneeling during the national anthem isn’t affecting any part of how they do their job. They are not taking time away from the field. Simply kneeling instead of standing for a few moments is not affecting anybody else. Nobody has to do extra work because they knelt. Nobody even has to pay any attention to it. Again, I will use the example of my student who sat every day during the Pledge of Allegiance. It didn’t take anything away from his studies or the other students’ studies. It didn’t affect anybody, unless they wanted to let it affect them by getting angry about it, which nobody did.

Racial tensions never really ended in our country. I hear many of my white friends claim that racism isn’t actually a problem anymore. Truthfully, if I were to look at the people I associate with the most, if I were to take a look outside my own window, I could easily believe this myself. Because I don’t live with it. I don’t experience it. In my community, I mostly associate and interact with white people. It would be easy for me to say that racism isn’t really a problem, because I don’t see it in my world. We don’t see the same kind of hatred and forced segregation that existed prior to the Civil Rights movement. We’ve come a long way, in some ways. In other ways, systematic or institutional racism is still deeply ingrained into our society. If you don’t believe this, I encourage you to have some genuine and sincere conversations with people of color, with a heart wide open and ready to listen and learn.

Then there is the fact that the president of the United States has been continually lashing out with personal attacks on certain groups and individuals. He had very little to say about white supremacists and neo-Nazis after the events at Charlottesville, yet he has tweeted or re-tweeted at least 16 times in the last two days (at my last count) with comments related to this NFL controversy.

If we can agree that there is a large population of people in our country who are experiencing injustice and pain as a result of the color of their skin; if we can consider the incredibly divisive statements that are repeatedly being made by the current leader of our nation; and if we can keep in mind the peaceful nature and symbolism of football players “taking a knee,” could we possibly see it a little differently? Instead of viewing it as a terrible sign of disrespect, could we entertain the idea that they are protesting in an incredibly peaceful manner to draw our attention to those who are oppressed and aren’t being heard?

I have to say that I’m quite surprised by the outrage that I am seeing over this. I understand that we love our country and we respect our flag. That’s great. Can we allow our love of country to extend to appreciating and respecting the freedoms that we all should be able to enjoy? Can we appreciate that those freedoms extend to those who have different beliefs and different ways of expressing their beliefs?

Consider the implications of the president of the United States proclaiming that peaceful protest is “unacceptable.” Consider the irony of forcing people to stand for a flag that is supposed to represent freedom.

I also find it quite ironic that many of the people who are so offended by this are the same people who have been complaining about how others get too offended about everything. The term “snowflake” (someone who is too sensitive and too easily offended) seems to have become a regular part of our vocabulary. Yet the people who I have heard using this term to insult someone else for being offended by something are the same people who are now being offended by this. Those who have ranted about how ridiculous it is that people are offended by a statue are now completely offended and outraged by someone quietly taking a knee. Why is one ridiculous, but not the other?  Why is it unpatriotic to kneel during the national anthem but not unpatriotic to wave a Confederate flag or defend statues of men who were fighting for secession from the United States of America? Can we pause for a moment to check ourselves for double standards? Are we applying a different set of rules to the people we disagree with?

These are troubling times. There are forces at work that are purposefully trying to create division among us. We might disagree about what those forces are, but does a peaceful form of protest that doesn’t hurt anybody really need to be one of them? Instead of letting this be one more thing to get angry at each other about, could we open our minds a little bit and try to see it from a different point of view? What if, instead of focusing on how mad we are about this, we tried to focus on the injuries that are at the root of this issue and address those? We don’t have to agree with those who protest, but would it hurt us to consider what they are trying to say? We don’t have to agree with each other, but do we need to lash out in anger? Can we simply let others live their beliefs in peace? Isn’t that what America is supposed to be all about?

My Neighbor

The past few months have brought an onslaught of distressing news: from the violent clashes in Charlottesville to the horrific mass shooting in Las Vegas, with a string of unprecedented catastrophic natural disasters and political turmoil in between. Throughout all of this I, like many others, have felt a tremendous weight bearing down on me. I have worried and wept for the thousands of people who have been affected by tragedy. I wake with trepidation each morning, wondering what new headlines will greet me.

Throughout all this trouble and turmoil, I have heard a lot of talk about “loving your neighbor.” This topic has been on my mind daily. I have been encouraged by the love and goodwill I have observed in my own community and throughout the world. I have rejoiced in seeing people come together to rescue, help, and serve those in need. While I celebrate and delight in the goodness, I have continued to feel a nagging ache in my heart as I’ve reflected on this great commandment to “love thy neighbor,” which is second only to the commandment to love God. (Matthew 22:36-40, Mark 12:28-31)

We hear these words so often: “Love your neighbor.” We know it is what we are supposed to do. We know the world would be a better place if we all did it. Some of us may feel like we do it pretty well. Yet I wonder if sometimes we lose sight of the scope of what it really means.

An essential aspect of this commandment is the question that a lawyer asked of Jesus (see Luke 10:29):

“And who is my neighbor?”  

To answer this crucial question, Jesus taught the familiar parable of “The Good Samaritan.” Many of us have known this story since we were little children. We were taught the significance of this parable being “The Good Samaritan.”  We learned of the hostility that existed between the Jews and the Samaritans and how notable it was that while others (who were not the enemy) passed the wounded man and left him for dead, it was the Samaritan who had compassion and gave so much to rescue a man who he could have considered his adversary. 

Many of us know this. We know the story. We know the meaning. We know the implications.

But do we really know it?

Do we know it with the kind of knowledge that seeps into our daily lives, here and now, that seeks application in the world all around us? Do we know it in the way that changes our vision and transforms our hearts?

I think of the Jews and the Samaritans and I think of people who belonged to different “groups;” people who felt fierce opposition towards each other. There were political reasons for their antagonism. There were religious reasons. There were a multitude of reasons for the enmity that existed, and surely a multitude of ways in which their enmity manifested.

I look at my world. Here and now. In my ordinary town. In overheard discussions. In the commentary on my social media feeds.

Yes, I hear talk of “love thy neighbor.” But I also hear Libtard, snowflake, Dumbocrat. Wingnut, Trumpster, Repugnican. Moron, idiot, loser.

Who is my neighbor?

I see groups. Republicans, Democrats, conservatives, liberals, left, right, Christians, Muslims, Jews, atheists, LGBTQ, millennials, blacks, whites, Hispanics, refugees, immigrants, documented, undocumented, etc., etc.…   The list goes on.

I see categories. I see labels. I see divisions. I hear anger. Insults. Antagonism. Blame. Hostility.

I am troubled by the things I see, but perhaps what troubles me the most is that I am not only seeing these things from random strangers on the internet (although that is troubling enough). I am seeing them from people who share my faith and claim to be disciples of Jesus Christ. I am seeing them in my own Facebook feed, from my own friends. I see my friends telling others that they are oversensitive or ridiculous or crybabies if they are trying to speak up against things that they view to be unjust. I see Christian friends – who claim to be fierce proponents of freedom of religion – liking and sharing posts with anti-Muslim sentiments, and I marvel at the hypocrisy. I see white friends assert that racism isn’t really a problem in our country anymore and that anybody who claims otherwise is being brainwashed by “fake news,” and I think of my friends of different races who would tell a very different story.

Who is my neighbor?

My neighbor is not just the person who shares my beliefs or my worldview. She is not just the person I go to church with or cross paths with in my community. My neighbor might live next door or on the other side of the globe. He might live across the street or across the border.

My neighbor is the one who is the other.  The one who belongs to that group. The one who I disagree with.

My neighbor is the one who makes me feel defensive. The one who makes me feel afraid. The one who might make my blood boil. My neighbor is the one who I don’t understand.

“Love thy neighbor” is not a call to only love those who we are comfortable with, or even those we don’t know and have neutral feelings for. It is also clearly a commandment to extend love to those who we are least comfortable with.

It is an important question: Who is my neighbor? But there is another important question: What does it mean to love?

Does it mean I simply tolerate? Does it mean I simply refrain from lashing out in anger?  Is love merely a matter of biting my tongue and walking away? Tolerance and self-control are important ingredients. But they are not enough to create love.

If we look back to the parable that Jesus used to teach us about loving our neighbor, what do we see?

Compassion. Mercy. Kindness. Generosity. Sacrifice.

We see action, not apathy. We see follow-through, not abandonment.  

The Samaritan did not close his eyes to the plight of his neighbor (the “other”) because he didn’t want to see it.  He was paying attention. He saw a person, not a label. He saw needs. He saw injuries. He took action:  to rescue, to comfort, to heal.

Could it be that our neighbors – those who are different from us, those who are the “other” – have actual needs and real injuries? Could it be that they are suffering from invisible wounds that we are oblivious to?  Could it be that they are not just whining and complaining? Could it be that they are not just being oversensitive or ridiculous?

In order to love our neighbor we need to start taking the labels off.  We need to look beyond political platforms and see people.

To love we need to pay attention. We need to get outside of ourselves and our own limited perspective. We need to recognize that not everyone shares our life experiences or our worldview. Perhaps we need to acknowledge that we don’t actually know everything.

To love we need to listen.  With open ears, open minds, open hearts. With a desire to actually hear.

We don’t need to agree in order to love. We don’t need to condone in order to love. But how can we love when we are slapping labels and hurling insults?

I do believe that in our world today, here and now, most of us would be the Good Samaritan if we saw someone beaten and left for dead, no matter who they were. We have seen that when catastrophic life-and-death situations strike, there are Good Samaritans everywhere. We have witnessed this in the United States recently during devastating floods and hurricanes, as well as in the aftermath of the deadly mass shooting in Las Vegas. In times of disaster, whether natural or man-made, people have stepped up to rescue and serve and love, regardless of race or religion or anything else. Good Samaritans and everyday heroes have been everywhere. When large-scale tragedy strikes, most people know how to love their neighbors. Compassion, kindness, and generosity abound.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could all love that way when we aren't being faced with life-and-death crises? What if we recognized the hurting souls around us who are not literally laying half-dead on the side of the road, but figuratively are? What if we became Good Samaritans in our regular, ordinary, everyday lives: in our face-to-face communication, in the words we speak about others, in our online interactions, in the silent judgments we make in our own mind as we view the world around us?

Who is my neighbor?

I am trying to ask myself that question more often. I am looking at the world a bit differently. It is so easy, so convenient, so comfortable to tune the rest of the world out and only pay attention to my world. My family, my friends, my activities, my problems. Those things are, obviously, important and should not be neglected. But I am trying to remember the answer Jesus gave to that important question. Who is my neighbor? My neighbor is the person I could easily overlook. My neighbor is the person I don’t normally associate with. My neighbor is the person I might think I won’t like all that much. How can I love them if I don’t know them? How can I love them if I’m not paying attention?

I’m trying to pay attention. I’m making a lot of mistakes. I don’t know how to love perfectly. I am being educated daily. I know that however imperfect I may be as I stumble along and find my way, there is One who loves me – and my neighbors - perfectly. I'm trying to see more of my neighbors through His eyes.  

A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.

– John 13:34-35

The Airport

Airports fascinate me.

Where else do you see so many people from so many different places, different cultures, different walks of life?  There we all are together, yet everyone is doing his or her own thing - some are hustling and hurrying, others are sitting and waiting. Most are not talking.

I find it fascinating to sit and watch everyone, and I always find myself wondering about different individuals. Where are they from? What is their destination? What is their story?

Really, everyone has a story.

But as much as people fascinate me, as much as I would love to know each person's story, I really tend to be an introvert. I love to sit and watch and wonder, but I'm not very comfortable talking to people I don't know. I prefer some personal space - I try to choose a seat that will allow me to not have to sit right next to somebody else. If someone engages me in conversation, of course I will reply, but I rarely initiate conversation with strangers.

So I sit, alone in my own little bubble, quietly observing all the other people who are also alone in their own little bubbles.

On my recent trip to and from Utah to attend my Grandma's funeral, I found myself traveling through airports without children for the first time in over six years.  Traveling without children is a completely different experience from traveling with children, especially in airports! It was actually very enjoyable for me. I had plenty of time to sit quietly, observe, and think.

When I arrived at the gate for  my return flight, another flight was just about to board, and most of the seats were taken. So I ended up sitting right next to an older woman. The other flight soon boarded, leaving most of the seats empty, but there we were, sitting right next to each other, with empty seats all around us. I will confess that it was uncomfortable for me. With so many empty seats all around, I felt an urge to get up and move to another seat with some more "personal space." But I didn't want to be rude, so I stayed put. It wasn't long before she got up and said she was going to go use the bathroom. I figured she was feeling the same way that I was and was just using the bathroom as an excuse to get up and leave, then come back and sit in a different seat. 

To my surprise, she returned a few minutes later and sat right down in the same seat, right next to me, despite all of the other empty seats around.

And then something even more surprising happened:

I started a conversation with her.

I'm not sure exactly what happened that caused me to do it. I guess you could say I felt "prompted." I've been trying to act on those promptings when they come to me, and I've been trying to reach out and connect more with others. Plus, I figured that since I'm about to move to a new place I need lots of practice starting conversations with strangers.

So I pushed my introvert tendencies aside and started a conversation with a complete stranger.

That was all I had to do: start the conversation. She took it from there. From that moment on, I said very little. She talked and talked and talked, for nearly an hour.

I'll be honest: I had been looking forward to this last bit of quiet time without kids, my last moments of peace before I returned home to an absolutely crazy mess of packing, cleaning, moving, etc.  I had a book to read, I had letters to write, I had a zillion thoughts in my head that I wanted to organize into my never-ending notebook of lists. I had been looking forward to this last bit of "me" time.

But I listened.

Not only did I listen, but I listened with an open heart. Rather than feeling irritated that she was still talking, rather than thinking about all the other things I could be doing, I really listened.

I truly cannot believe how  much of this woman's life I learned about in 45 minutes.

I learned all about her 99 year-old grandmother and the beautiful relationship that they share, the adventures they have gone on together, their deep love for each other. Now her grandmother is in a nursing home and she is heartbroken.

I learned about her Native American descent and her Catholic faith. I heard several accounts of how she had asked the Lord for help during difficult times in her life, and the help always came.

I learned about how she worked for the state helping sexually abused children, and how that changed her perspective on everything.

I learned about how she had three children and had lost one of them, and how she took in 4 nephews and 1 niece because their parents were drug addicts. She raised them from the time they were very small, along with her own children.

I heard very detailed descriptions of grand family reunions.

I learned about what her children and nephews and niece are all doing now, how most of them have gone on to be very successful, but one of them is entitled and lazy.

It was fascinating. She had such a beautiful story to tell. I felt connected to her. I felt inspired by her.

She learned a little bit about me as well. I was surprised, and touched, when she told me that she had read my Grandma's obituary in the newspaper. I told her of our plans to move to Texas. She gave me lots of counsel about children: warned me not to let them have sleepovers and told me to be sure I always know who their friends are. She told me to always turn to the Lord.

This woman was old enough to be my mother. She was a different race, a different religion. Our lives were so very different, but we also had so much in common.

By the end of our hour together, I realized I was already starting to love this woman. And I didn't even know her name.

When it was time to board the plane she thanked me for listening and I thanked her for sharing. I told her that it had been a pleasure to hear her story, and I meant it. I told her she really needed to write it all down, and I meant that, too. She wished me well on my move and told me to pray a lot.

We said goodbye.

I am sure I will never see her again. I still don't know her name. But because I made the choice to reach out rather than withdraw, to open my heart rather than put up a wall, I made a new friend, gained some new insights, and was uplifted and inspired.

My heart was changed.

Maybe the next time I'm in an airport I'll choose a seat right next to someone and strike up a conversation.

Stranger things have happened...