We were tired. And, almost grumpy. Almost.

It’s not a recipe for joy, that mix of airport spaces and flight delays. The Lovely Lady and I, having spent a few days breathing the clear Vermont air into our lungs and the essence of God’s astounding creation into our hearts, were waiting for a flight home.

On that day, things weren’t going as well as the ones previous.

Our ride home never arrived. We missed our connection in Chicago. Perhaps, I should say connections—plural. Both the original one and the rescheduled one.

While we waited, folks came in for other flights. With several of the outgoing flights being delayed, the small airport’s waiting area was beginning to fill up.

A group of young people from Africa were among those awaiting a late departure time to Washington, D.C. They had spent several weeks in a cultural exchange program and were headed for one last event before scattering to their individual countries.

I had nothing better to do, so I watched the group (and assorted individuals) with interest and amusement. The Lovely Lady, sitting next to me, had planned better than I (or so she told me), so the book she was reading kept her attention.

Before long, one young man from Uganda took a seat across from us, followed by a young woman, who took the empty space right next to me. They talked a little, then turned their attention to the cell phones in their hands, much as you would expect of any teenager in our own country today.

The row of seats we occupied, three divided plastic surfaces connected by a metal structure underneath, had no arm supports to separate them, but with an adult in each seat, it was easy to see there was no room for anyone else. Three. No more.

Except, on this day, there was. Sort of.

A few moments after the first young lady took her seat next to me, another walked up and, pushing her friend’s knee to get her moving the other direction, proceeded to sit between her and me.

To avoid being sat upon, I quickly slid toward the Lovely Lady—she, still engrossed in her historical novel. Tucking my shoulder behind hers, my sitting-down parts spanning the space between the seats, it wasn’t that uncomfortable. (I may have a little extra padding there, anyway. Possibly.) I think she may not have been aware of the reason for my chumminess, but she snuggled her arm against mine anyway and we sat that way until it was time to leave.

The girl on the other side of me sat almost as close. Almost. I think you could have slid an index card between us, but only just. She seemed as unaware of the proximity as the Lovely Lady. She didn’t snuggle any. Really, she didn’t.

But, can we talk about personal space for a minute or two? Now’s as good a time as any.

I know folks who are obsessed, really—obsessed, by their desire/need to maintain distance between themselves and the masses.

Others seem to have a clear delineation in their minds of how close is too close.

Some of them would have come right out and told the interloper of her encroachment, asking her to move elsewhere.

I know several who would have stood up and gone to lean against the wall.

I might have agreed with that group. Once.

I’m not so sure now.

Does it seem strange to you that there was joy in squeezing over to make room for that young soul?

Do you think it even more unlikely, as we made changes to our travel plans later, giving up our adjacent seats near the front of one airplane, to be separated (an aisle and a row apart) and crammed between two strangers on another flight, that it seemed good to have a chance to sit calmly and to be kind, while being bumped and shaken and, ultimately, having a seatmate’s vodka and soda poured over my shoe?

It seems strange to me.

But perhaps, it’s supposed to seem strange.

Maybe, following the One who gave up unlimited personal space to walk in a strange place—to be crowded and touched, mauled and shoved by dirty, stinking people who were oblivious and uncaring of who He was and why He came—maybe, it should feel a little strange. A little other-worldly, even.

He invited His weary friends to come away and rest, and they thought it was a good idea.

Personal space, at last!

Then the crowds found them. “Send them home!” the friends sputtered.

Their space disappeared. Completely. Utterly. Instantly. But He, seeing the people instead of the frustration, welcomed them into His space. (Mark 6:31-34)

His personal space.

Strange.

Come close, He says. And, I’ll come close to you. (James 4:8)

David the songwriter asked to live with God in His house. No. David asked to live in God’s house with His protecting arms around him. (Psalm 61:4)

Is that close enough? 

What’s that you say about personal space?

I wish I could leave it there. Really, I do. God gave up His personal space for us. How wonderful.

There’s more.

I want to direct your attention to a few words an enigmatic Old Testament fellow named Jabez said to God some centuries ago. He’s the one who asked God to enlarge his territory. And, God did it.

Somehow, I don’t think the lesson for us in this age is how to get more stuff. Or more land. Or more power.

I don’t.

What if He simply wants us to fit one more person in our heart? Just one.

Or, maybe a hundred. Or, only fourteen. Whatever. 

More, anyway.

The Teacher, when tested, made clear what was important: Love God with every bit of territory in your hearts. And, after it has stretched to contain that love, reach out and draw the world into that love. (Matthew 22:37-39)

The place we live with our God is the space we share with our world.

The place we live with our God is the space we share with our world. Click To Tweet

More than that—the love we experience in our God is the same love with which we must love.

Our neighbors.

Our fellow travelers.

Our world.

Let your love—your gentleness—be in evidence to all. God is near. (Philippians 4:5)

As His space grows inside us, our personal space outside may shrink. And, that’s good.

Strange.

But, good.

 

 

God’s mercy and grace give me hope—for myself, and for our world.
(Billy Graham ~ American evangelist ~ 1918-2018)

 

Heaven’s eyes, Heaven’s eyes.
What I need while I’m down here
Down in the dirt and the hurt of earth.
Heaven’s eyes, Heaven’s Eyes.
Father, I need Heaven’s eyes.
(Heaven’s Eyes ~ Nancy Jesser-Halsey ~ © 2001 ~ Used by permission)

Listen to the entire song here:

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2018. All Rights Reserved.