I’m at gate C13 at the Atlanta airport. Eating a chicken salad sandwich. Sitting across from Moe’s. My husband’s favorite restaurant. I feel like I’m cheating him by not eating there. But Mexican food doesn’t cut it on travel days. Sorry babe.
Two guys just asked if I got on the internet since I had my computer out. Turns out we have to pay $7.95 to access wi-fi. They said we should all chip in and share it. “We shouldn’t have to pay for the internet!” One guy about my age had his iPhone so he had some access.
I love airports. There aren’t many other places in society where such a mix of people congregate. I’m overwhelmed as I walk down the center of the C concourse. Each person has a unique, exciting and painful story. The mess of human potential is daunting.
In our busy world, we miss so many chances to connect with people. We hurry, avoid eye contact, and think mostly about ourselves.
Yet, what if we stopped? And intentionally shared our stories?
I see the beginnings of stories. Guys in their Harley jackets. A Muslim woman in a head wrap. An exhausted business traveler. A couple decked out in Steelers gear head to toe (Superbowl in Tampa this Sunday!).
This is the job of the church. To be an intersection where people and their stories meet. Where one story meets another, sparks fly, God moves, life change results.
I love airports.
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