Sometimes the true joy is in the journey

I wonder how some people survive with no voice in life events.

On a recent trip home from Vermont, my departing flight was announced as delayed. The connection in Detroit for a Minneapolis flight was suddenly tight. I started doing the “what if” scenario math about making the connection (i.e. what if I get in at the same time as the Detroit flight departs? Will they hold the plane for me?).

I suddenly became conscious that here I go again, worrying and feeling a bit self-absorbed, as if I wasn’t really walking the talk of the first sentence of my daily prayer, “Lord, I pray to trust you and do your will today, no matter what I think I want or need.” I also use time in airports to pray a secret Rosary. I say secret because I hide the beads, as I don’t want those who perpetually text or use head sets, iPhones, iPads and laptops to judge me.

After completing my Rosary, I continued scanning the area. The gate attendants suddenly arrived to begin boarding. Then, I became aware of a gentleman with white disheveled hair and a grey coat sitting hunched over in a wheelchair. He looked like he was by himself. A minute went by and I walked over to check on him. As I approached, I noticed his chin resting on his chest and that he was sleeping. It looked like one of those real deep fatigue sleeps where you’ve expended yourself to the max. I gently woke him. He lifted his head meekly and we made eye contact.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

He managed a weak grin and said, “Yes, they dropped me here and left.” The hand-off failed.

I explained to Ron that the flight was delayed. We both had the same connecting flight in Detroit and had to make a decision whether to stay the night in Burlington or try and make the very tight connection. I reached down and picked the boarding pass up from his lap and, as I turned toward the counter, he grabbed the palm of my hand and said hoarsely in a forced whisper, “I feel like I’ve know you for a long time.”

As I stood in line I realized my earlier worries about my travel plans now shifted to God’s will for my adopted brother. I also thought that by supporting Ron, God would be sure I was taken care of. That wasn’t necessary. Just a passing thought.

At the counter, I noticed that Ron’s voice was absent in the decision whether to stay in Vermont or take the risk of making the last connection of the day for our destinations. I rolled him to the counter and asked the gal to bend down to Ron’s eye level to converse. As usual, when people are empowered, Ron posed the key question to the gate professional that I had missed: “What would you do?”

Classic. Brilliant. She “danced.” That’s when my spine grew and it was time to step up. I said, “Ron, we’re going to Detroit!” He smiled, nodded and gave me a thumbs-up.

I decided, too, that I wasn’t leaving Ron until he’d made it to his last connection to get treatment in Orange County, Calif. Ron is 77, had recently survived open-heart surgery, had stroked-out during surgery and was going to California alone for some alternative therapy. We were connected in life experience.

The word spread from the counter to the plane that I had adopted Ron. Seats were shuffled and flight attendant Denise made sure Ron and I sat together. When finally on the tarmac the plane stopped and the pilot announced, “Well folks, we’re a little bit heavy and will need to sit here and burn fuel for a brief 25 minutes.”

Then came the announcement by attendant Denise that there was no running water in the lavatories.

After being airborne a while, I glanced to my right to watch Ron sleep peacefully and reflected on our chats. Ron was a Vietnam veteran, divorced a few times, had survived health challenges and, like myself, practiced perpetual prayer. And, he has a great sense of humor. We found humor in creating imaginary scenarios about weak-politician equivalents of “dumping fuel” (waste and poor planning) and the public’s outrage.

At one point, while a woman one row in front of us finished puking, I was thinking this may be the flight from hell when Ron looked at me and said, “I’ve never laughed so hard.”

We missed our connection, received hotel vouchers and stayed in adjacent rooms in Detroit. The next morning I recruited a responsible attendant who was instructed to stay with Ron until he boarded. As I finished with the attendant, Ron waved me down to his seated level and whispered hoarsely, “The joy is in the journey.”

Three strides away from Ron as I rushed to my terminal we both turned toward one another, simultaneously, and shouted “love you!”

Paul Maguire is a Palmer resident and former professor at the University of Alaska Anchorage. He is the facilitator of the Center for Creating Peaceful Neighborhoods, and advocates for eliminating bullying and fully including all people in community.

Opinions expressed on the Faith page are the author’s and are not necessarily those of the Mat-Su Valley Frontiersman, its staff or its parent company, Wick Communications Co. To submit a column or other news for the Faith page, send email to news@frontiersman.com, or call 352-2268.