On the Plane to Rapid City--Vietnam Vet Meets Little Lady

In Mesa, AZ, last week, I was eager to get back to Rapid City where my husband was already on his way to pick me up after my weekend getting treatments in AZ.  Walking to the gate, I had been awed at how good I felt this time, having the strength to get about even with my rather heavy personal bag. Looking at my boarding pass, I saw that I had a window seat this time. 

 

I like a window seat for seeing scenery below me but not after all the many meds, tonics, and drinks I have to take in the morning! So when I got to my seat and saw that both other passengers were already in their seats, I offered that either of them were welcome to sit by the window if they wished. The old man started to try to get up from his seat, and I hoped with all my might that he would move over by the window so that I would not have to disturb him to move for me during the flight. He did, even if it took a bit for his arthritic limbs to move to another seat. I ended up sitting in the midldle, which was fine with me.

Now some people obviously don't want to talk, so I leave them be. I don't think disturbing someone just because you think you should "share the gospel" with them is always effective. But sometimes I say something or ask something to try to be friendly and it starts a pleasant conversation in which I always look for an open door to share Christ. 

"Do you live in Rapid City?"  I asked the old man.

"No," he answered. "I'm just going up because my wife's mother just passed away. I live in Yuma."

I expressed a condolence and somehow in the conversation, it came up that the man was a vet and had served during the Vietnam War. 

"Really!" I exclaimed. "Did you win any purple hearts?" I knew win was not the right word, but that is what popped out.

The man did not seem to be offended with my lack of proper vocabulary. "Let me show you a picture," he replied, proudly getting his phone out and finding a photo of several medals he had earned, including, yes, a purple heart. So of course, I marveled at them and asked him how he got them, resulting in brief stories of wounds, being shot at, areas of his body that pain him to this day. I asked where all he had traveled, and he proudly went down the list of not only all the states he could remember being in but also the cities in Mexico where he has vacationed.

When he talked a little bit about his work and said that he was a cook, I asked where he cooked.

"Cracker Barrel," he said proudly. "I make cornbread, steak, turnip greens, rolls, you-name-it. No one's a better cook than I am!"

I wasn't about to argue. I would have liked to taste his cooking. When I showed him a picture of my family of seven children and pointed out my husband in the picture, he snorted, "I figured that out already. I have fifteen children--"

I gasped, "Wow!"

"And there are fourteen mothers!" he added with no compunction about it.

"OH!" I said, because what else are you supposed to say? I tell you, he had me beat, but that is perfectly okay. I'm not out to win that kind of game. He said one of his step-sons was a guard on the Rosebud reservation.

Meanwhile I was praying for an open door to share Christ. The day before, I had read what Paul wrote, "Praying...that I may have boldness and utterance to speak what I ought" in sharing the gospel. I had prayed for that for myself that day and this day both.

"Do you go to church?" I asked.

He stalled. "I would," he said, "But I don't have a car right now. I go to early morning mass near me. It's in Spanish so I don't understand much, but I know the prayers." And he recounted how he prays a lot, every time he goes somewhere and the whole way there.

Just then, I remembered a little card tract that fellow missionary John Poff had given out at the Native American Missionary Rally at Mitchell the weekend before. When you hold the card one way, the decorative word in the middle says "DEATH." When you turn it upside down, the same word says, "Life." And it has at the top, "The wages of sin is DEATH," but you turn the card upside down and it says "but the gift of God is eternal LIFE." I showed him this fascinating word and let him read the verses. Then he turned the card over and read the gospel message on the back, too. I did not preach but sat silently, thrilled to see him reading the gospel message. I prayed that God's Word would not return void.

"I will put this in my wallet," he said, promptly pulling out his wallet and sliding the card inside. Will the Scripture speak to him? Will he just treat the card like one more magical item to bring good luck? I don't know. I just know that God's Word does not return void.

After collecting our luggage at the Rapid City Airport, I watched the haggard, arthritic veteran start on his way to the door and to his mother-in-law's funeral.

"Have a good day!" he said quietly.

"You, too!" I replied.

I hoped he would remember the little lady who kept him talking on the plane and would think about church and God and sin and eternal life. May the Scripture on the card lead him to placing his faith in Christ and turning from his sinful ways. 

With a happy heart, I watched Jonathan pull up in the muddy truck. He had cleaned out my side of the floor and I could get in nicely, even if his door is having serious issues! We first allowed ourselves a few minutes to walk together in the warm sunshine at a park to enjoy the geese and the lake and each other and God--the One Who cares about dads carrying heavy loads and moms with cancer--and Vietnam War vets who need someone to be proud of them and point them to the Cross.