Pray Them Home

She was perhaps, 15 months old. I can’t be sure. I didn’t ask.
Her big brown eyes were framed by a mass of very fine, very black, very curly hair. There was a certain cuteness about her that made me smile.
    C48 began to fill as everyone waited to board the plane.  In an instant, quiet innocence turned into loud inconsolable wailing.  The young mother patiently walked her, rocked her, tenderly bounced her and sang to her.  All efforts to comfort or distract her were in vain. The little one was having, as they say, “a moment”.   Knowing how the  cabin of an aircraft in flight can feel confining, I admittedly thought, “This could be a long flight home”!
    In our seats now, the mother and child are one row across and one forward. The child has cried herself into a deep sleep.  Her soft black curls are cradled in the comfort of her mother’s arms.  As we begin to taxi away from the terminal, a tender moment captures my attention. The young mother, bows her head and closes her eyes.  Her lips move silently. 
    The plane now takes its final pause on the runway.  I notice the mother’s head down, her chin embedded in the soft, mass of black curls.  Again, I notice her lips as they move in silent rhythm. I am supposing that she is praying for a safe flight for both herself and her precious child. 
    I don’t know her name.  I don’t know her story.  Strange, it would seem, that I feel compelled to join in prayer ‘for’ them.  This happens at various times during the flight. I offer a brief prayer when I see the patience needed by the mother to receive assistance from the (not so helpful) flight crew. I pray as I sense the resources of energy that are required from the mother to meet the needs of a small child.
    With a sense of wonder in my heart, I feel that prayers must surely be heard even at 35,000 feet.  I smile in warm delight as, along with intermittent moments of struggle,  they rest together, play together, blow kisses and giggle together.
    We are now one hour from landing.  I take the opportunity to move forward and place a tender touch of caring on the mother’s shoulder.  I tell her she is a wonderful mother, she is doing a great job and her little girl has handled the flight well. 
    It was only a brief moment but it was a moment of true connection.  I learn now that they came to Canada for 3 months so that she could study English.  They are now on their way back home to Brazil. I gasped upon realizing that they still had many more hours of travel ahead of them. 
     It was a brief exchange in the noisy cabin of an airplane but the young mother’s beautiful bright smile spoke clearly of how grateful she was for a stranger’s caring touch and words of praise and encouragement. The few simple words she spoke assured me of her inner strength and faith that would carry her through.  
    Walking off the plane together, I felt so privileged to have been, even in a small way, a part of helping to pray them home.

Ruth Black,
September, 2015