Being "Available"

I went to the airport at DFW today to pick up my daughter. She was flying in from a school trip to Canada. She'd been gone for 5 days with some of the members of the French Club at her high school. It was an adventure-filled trip including being diverted to a different airport due to bad weather, sleeping on a chartered bus, which was not a part of the itinerary and dog sledding, of all things. That's not the story I want to tell, though.

What was special about the trip to the airport began before my daughter ever landed in Dallas.

I met a lady. She spoke only broken English. She was Arabic. I do not know her name. She was dressed in traditional Arabic clothing and approached me as I watched a myriad of people walking in all directions looking for luggage, family members and even strangers. She asked me how to get out of the airport.

On the surface, not a difficult question to answer, but the underlying thought was nearly palpable. "I don't know where I am going."

I could have pointed to the door and said, "That door will take you outside." I would have responded to her question appropriately and I could have gone about my business. Instead, I asked her if she was meeting anyone. Thus, a confusing and disjointed conversation took place between two people from two worlds, brought together by need and held together by compassion.

How many people were in that airport and yet, she approached me? Why me? I don't know. Maybe I was the most "available" or maybe I was the first person she saw. It really doesn't matter, but in my heart, I think I was put in that place at that time for that very purpose - to help her.

Many questions were asked and answered and in time I came to understand that her daughter was supposed to come to the airport to pick her up, but that she had not arrived yet. She had no phone number for her daughter and no address. I could not think of a single way to help her.

Meanwhile, my daughter's flight arrived. I told the lady that I had to greet my daughter and that I would be back to help her again as soon as I could. I touched her arm before walking away. I wanted to encourage her. I'm not even sure she understood all that I was saying. I was truly worried about her, but I had no idea what to do.

My daughter appeared and I hugged her tightly, then pointed her toward the bag claim area. I then went in search of someone else who might help me, or rather, the lost lady. I mentioned my concerns to the French Club teacher who immediately called out to one of her students. His father spoke perfect Arabic.

He and I went to talk to the older woman. I listened to their conversation, delighted to know that she had someone with whom to communicate. They went back and forth as I stood there - a part of the event, but left out of the process.

In the end, we made no progress in helping her find or contact her daughter, but we did give her some comfort in allowing her to fully discuss her plight with someone who understood her. (I think back to that situation now and wonder how many times we just really want someone to listen to us. Even if they can't help or change the situation, if they just listen, we somehow feel better.)

We ended up encouraging her by telling her that Dallas traffic can be difficult and that her daughter would very likely be there soon. It wasn't much to offer, but it was the truth... and it was really all we could say. I touched her arm again and this time, she touched mine, too. It was a silent gesture that said more than anything my words could have said - even if I had been able to speak Arabic.

In between the time we gathered up the luggage from the Canada trip and saying our goodbyes, the lady disappeared. She's probably having a delightful time at her daughter's home, glad to be among family.

I, too, am home and glad to be surrounded by my family.

I learned a little bit more about compassion today and I was reminded again of the value of meaningful touch. It was a good day.

~Carla