There are times when the reality of one’s frailty and ‘smallness’
latches on to the mind like a vice grip, and fear and insecurity well up in the
chest so that it becomes more difficult to take a breath. These are the emotions I felt as I exited the
plane in Ethiopia. My carry-on luggage and
I had gotten separated, and the baggage claim personnel couldn’t locate it. I was doing everything I could to remain calm
and explain my dilemma to the airport customer service officer. I only had about an hour and a half to spare
before my final flight to Malawi, and I still had to go through another security
screening and get checked in. So as I waited for the officer to locate my
very inconspicuous, black, Swiss Air carry-on, which carried my 35 mm camera,
laptop, medication, and other items of value, the Lord brought Philippians 4:6
to my remembrance, and I quoted it to myself, out loud, over and over
again:
“Now, Phylicia, {says I to myself}, the Lord has told you not to be anxious about anything; but in
everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be
made known unto him. So Lord, I want to
thank you again for giving me the courage to get on that airplane and fly here
by myself. Thank you for getting me
safely to this airport. Lord, would you
please help that baggage agent to locate my carry-on. You know I need it for this last leg of my
flight. Lord, please help me to remain calm. I know you are in control of this
situation. I will not be anxious. I will not be anxious.”
That
was my prayer – simple and to the point.
Praise God for the comfort of his Word!
I was so thankful
that I wasn’t wearing a watch and my phone wasn’t charged because I
had no way
of knowing how little time I had left to catch my next plane. I passed the time by people watching, and it
was an incredible show. There were brown
people everywhere I turned. I know that
sounds funny, but it’s quite something to realize that there are places in the
world where my ethnicity doesn’t represent the minority. While most of the people were brown, their
clothing wasn’t. Colorful, flowing robes
and tunics covered bodies from head to toe, and very little flesh was exposed
on anyone (a far cry from American culture).
My eyes beheld the outward expressions of religious faith and cultural
tradition on display in the form of garments and body art. Many
of the women, both old and young, adorned their hands and feet with a henna
tattoo type of artwork. I found the
scrollwork patterns fascinating and strange at the same time, and I tried not
stare. Two elderly nuns sat near me and began to carry on a conversation in
French. A contingent of men walked by dressed in the
traditional garb of orthodox Jews from days gone by – black pants, long sleeved
black jacket, wide brim black hat, and white shirt. Each of them wore long beards, thick
sideburns, and their hair was styled with side ringlets. I immediately thought of the rabbi from the
movie Fiddler on the Roof. A toddler
stood next to his mother and screamed at the top of his lungs while he pulled
on her robe. She just continued to
converse with her travel companion and ignored the little boy. I
tried to do the same.
Finally, the personnel officer emerged from the bowels of the airport baggage storage area (which was off-limits to passengers, or I would have been on the hunt for the bag myself) with my carry-on in his hands. I was overjoyed and relieved. I smiled a great, big thank you and asked for the time. I only had 45 minutes to spare before my next flight would leave. I made the mad dash to security. My dash came to a halt when a group of young men in front of me loaded down with metal objects and ‘suspicious’ looking items in their carry-on bags that caused the security scanner to go haywire and actually shut down, had to empty their pockets and be patted down one by one. A little bit of anxiety welled up inside me again, and I prayed they weren’t terrorists. Extra security personnel were brought it to deal with the men, and another line was opened for everyone else; I passed through without incident. When I finally took my seat on board the aircraft, after securing my carry-on bag directly overhead, I thanked the Lord once again for his protection. Only 3 hours remaining, and I would finally reach my destination. Soon I would be in the company of friends. There was no turning back now, and I was growing giddy with excitement. Chipata! Chipata! Here I come!
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