I love international airports. I’m a freak about flying so I
always arrive about 12 hours too early. I can be pretty flakey, so I’m
terrified I’ll show up having forgotten my passport, luggage or the name
of the airline.
What that means is, I end up spending hours walking, sitting eating and observing. I don’t mind because there’s just so much to see. It’s a microcosm of our world.
It is a place of hellos and goodbyes, excitement and anxiety, gains and losses, exhilaration and weariness. It’s a place where reunion and loneliness can coexist.
There are the young, beautiful and fit; the old, haggard and maimed. There are sandals, sneakers and spikes, shorts, suites and sweats. There are women strutting in next to nothing and others clothed head to toe.
There are young boys, jumping, dancing and slaying villains, watched by older sisters holding bears, grabbing hands, scolding and consoling. Weary parents are plodding and searching for the gate, a seat and a drink.
There are hippies and businessmen, the clean shaven, groomed and scruffy, the confident and the bewildered, tatted and uptight, cell phones, tablets and laptops, beer, wine and spirits, $10 burgers and peanut butter and jelly. And the skin tones rival the rainbow.
People weep with joy, sorrow and exhaustion. Young lovers embrace, old ones kiss softly and fathers send their children back to mom.
I think heaven will be like an international airport; filled with people of all shapes, sizes, brands, and backgrounds. The hurt and healthy are healed, telling story upon story of reconciliation, faith and grace. I marvel and the thought of eternity with such spectacular diversity.
Heaven will be like an international airport... without the goodbyes and baggage.
What that means is, I end up spending hours walking, sitting eating and observing. I don’t mind because there’s just so much to see. It’s a microcosm of our world.
It is a place of hellos and goodbyes, excitement and anxiety, gains and losses, exhilaration and weariness. It’s a place where reunion and loneliness can coexist.
There are the young, beautiful and fit; the old, haggard and maimed. There are sandals, sneakers and spikes, shorts, suites and sweats. There are women strutting in next to nothing and others clothed head to toe.
There are young boys, jumping, dancing and slaying villains, watched by older sisters holding bears, grabbing hands, scolding and consoling. Weary parents are plodding and searching for the gate, a seat and a drink.
There are hippies and businessmen, the clean shaven, groomed and scruffy, the confident and the bewildered, tatted and uptight, cell phones, tablets and laptops, beer, wine and spirits, $10 burgers and peanut butter and jelly. And the skin tones rival the rainbow.
People weep with joy, sorrow and exhaustion. Young lovers embrace, old ones kiss softly and fathers send their children back to mom.
I think heaven will be like an international airport; filled with people of all shapes, sizes, brands, and backgrounds. The hurt and healthy are healed, telling story upon story of reconciliation, faith and grace. I marvel and the thought of eternity with such spectacular diversity.
Heaven will be like an international airport... without the goodbyes and baggage.
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