First Impressions

I just flew into Charlotte, North Carolina.  I have a three hour layover here until I board a flight which will take me home just in time for a weekend dedicated to getting my daughter settled into college. I have never been here before, so I had no idea what to expect.

Flying into the area all I could see from the plane was homes surrounded by dense forest.  After our plane landed, and as we taxied to the gate, I did not see any building or other planes.  All I saw was the green fields that separate the runways from the taxi ways.  As our plane made its way to the gate. the flight attendant asked for all of us to pull down our window shades to keep the plane as cool as possible for the next flight.  Then I could see nothing.

After arriving at the gate they encouraged us to be careful not to stumble down the steps and for those who had their bags checked at the gate to not walk under the wing, but wait until the baggage personnel brought your bag to you at the side of the plane.

Being from Long Beach, and having worked at Long Beach Airport while in college, I immediately had a vision of what this airport would look like.  Upon departing the plane I was not disappointed.  There was a long walk to what looked like the end of a temporary building.  I could now see other small planes, all which unloaded their passengers directly upon the tarmac.  I just knew when I made my way into the terminal I would find a hand full of gates, a couple of food kiosks and not much else. 

To my surprise, I walked into what might just be the longest concourse I have seen.  It was made up of E gates.  E gates?  From what I observed on the outside, I thought they would be lucky to have 10 gates let along five whole concourses; A,B,C,D and E. 

I began to walk.  I walked for a long time, using the moving paths when possible to speed my progress.  

 I made my way past concourse D and found a grand hall that separates concourses A, B, C and D.  It is filled with restaurants, shops, trees, white rocking chairs and a volunteer piano player who has a tall vase filled with money.  The atriums was filled with people.  Who would have ever imagined looking at the end of the building all of this would be in inside.

 

Sometimes first impressions are just wrong.

Since I had three hours before my next flight, rather than hurrying through the area, I decided to take my time walking through this space and engage myself in what was happening.  I walked by the shops, watched people get their shoes shined (not something you ever see in Southern California), and hovered over the rocking chairs waiting for a free one.  When it was finally my turn, I gave it to a man who looked like he could use it more than me.  I had the time to wait for another.  I had time to just take it all in.

I am now sitting at a table, drinking a Starbuck’s, and watching people go by.  There is the guy who just ran past in flip-flops, the clapping of his footware echoing throughout the building.  There is the teenage girl, who is eating Mac Donald’s and looking as if the rest of life is about as exciting as the food she is digesting.  There is the 20-something women who is Skyping with someone as she eats her Mongolian Barbeque.  She is giving them dating advice.  There are people with smiles on their face, and people who look as if they never have smiled in their life.  There are people who look as if they are going somewhere, and people who are meandering through the terminal as if this is their destination.   There are kind looking people, and mean looking people.  There are people who look like they would be interesting to talk to and people who you might be afraid to strike up a conversation with.  There are those who are dressed for success and those who are dressed for comfort.  I could go on and on, but suffice it to say, this “tiny little airport,” is filled with all kinds of different people in it.

It strikes me as I watch them go by, whatever my first impression is, it may be wrong.  A quick glance, a reading of their body language, and catching a few words as they pass by in no way gives me sufficient information to have any idea what their story is.  Like this terminal I am sitting in, what I initially think is true might have no basis in reality.

This is important to remember, if we ever want to get close enough to people to really know them.

My wife has been volunteering at a free hospice care service.  A few weeks back she was assigned to a man who was dying.  The only family he had with him was a 22 year-old son who was his primary caregiver.  I wonder what I would have thought of him if he was walking through this terminal.  Would I think he was dressed for success, or going somewhere?  Would I think he looked interesting to talk to?  Would I think he was in a hurry or present in the moment?  Would I think he was just like many other 22 year-olds, having little responsibility and lots of times to figure out what life is about?

My wife tells me that to look at this young man you would never know his father was dying and that he was primarily responsible for him.  He carried himself like any other man in his mid 20’s, but the reality was he was bearing a great weight.

If you allowed your first impression of this young man to shape what you thought about him and his experience you would be wrong.  You simply never know the story of a person by observation.  Even the people we live life with, our neighbors, the clerk at the grocery store you frequent, the person who teaches in the next classroom, or resides in the office down the hall may have a story going on in their life that you would never imagine by what you see.

To know someone’s story you have to enter it.  This is what God did; he entered our story, learning firsthand what it was like to be human, to be tempted, to be hungry and tired, to experience loss, to know joy.  Why did he do this, so that he could express the fullness of his loving-kindness in the midst of our story. 

What would it be, if in seeing all these people walk by, we would not settle for our first impression, but be willing to enter into the stories that come across our path?  How would this change our experience in our neighborhood, place of work, the shops we frequent, or the airports in which we layover?  How would it change our view of the people that we see?  How could you enter their story?  Not everyone’s, but at least one person who up till now has just been to you a first impression.  How would this allow you to express the fullness of the loving-kindness which you have experienced?

If we could learn to live like this, we would develop the capacity to see beyond the image we are initially presented with to the big story that is contained inside.  I believe, this would make all the difference in our ability to truly love.