The window seat said "Reserved." So I took the aisle.
Soon, the spot was filled, not with the huge football tackle I feared, but with a seven-year old girl flying alone. After reassuring the Southwest attendant of my grandpa-hood I introduced myself to someone that I presumed, with wild inaccuracy, would be shy.
"Hi," she chirped. "What's your name?"
"Chip," I answered. "It's my nickname."
"Well, Chip, I talk a lot," she said boldly. "I have ADD & I get in trouble because I can't listen. My mom died three years ago & my dad is somewhere else. I'm sort of an orphan & live with my grandpa & sometimes with my aunt &…"
She continued non-stop.
As if sensing trouble passengers avoided our middle seat until it was the only one left. John, a high school teacher & football coach with a Marine haircut, squeezed in.
I had misjudged the little girl as shy & missed again by guessing John would be a tough guy.
For three hours I witnessed classic caregiving. John not only listened to his seat mate's rambling but did crossword puzzles with her & told her (when he could squeeze it in) about his little boys.
"I wish I could learn to listen, John & Chip," the little girl confessed.
John offered ideas but his student kept interrupting. As we approached the flight's end she began repeating, "I am REALLY scared about landing.
It was my turn to help. "Once upon a time there was a seven-year-old girl named Susan who had a fairy godmother who helped her every time she was scared &…"
For the flight's last twenty minutes our little friend sat enchanted. Her rapt silence continued as the plane shook during its descent through a rainstorm.
"Look how well you listened." I told her as we taxied to the gate.
"Wow," she exulted. "You're right!"
I waited to reveal the little girl's name because John & I were as disbelieving as you may be.
"My name is Essence," she had instructed us. "E-S-S-E-N-C-E. You know, like something important."
-Erie Chapman
Photo by Erie
Journal of Sacred Work 
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