The little girl at carousel number 10

Is there a more life-sapping duty than waiting at the baggage carousal at the end of a flight? After spending an hour, five hours or (gulp) 12 hours in the pressurised cabin of a busy plane, with little room for manoeuvre and slim enjoyment by way of food, the last thing anyone wants is to collectively gather around a tediously slow conveyer built waiting for luggage to arrive. 

I was in this situation a couple of weeks ago. I’d just arrived in Edinburgh from Bristol and it was approaching 11pm. In front of me was someone who clearly hadn’t read the script for these situations. She was excited and energetic, seemingly enjoying the delights of carousel number 10. 

She was around 5 years old. 

As one large yellow and grey rucksack emerged, the little girl jumped on it, dragged it off the carousel and just about carried it to her parents, almost crashing into me in the process. But there was a problem. “No darling!” a lady with a Scottish accent hurriedly said as she rushed towards her daughter. “That’s not our bag — that’s someone else’s!” 

Those of us who had front-row seats to this adorable little drama raised weary but hearty smiles as the bag was returned to carousel. It was a heartwarming and welcome interlude from the draining wait for luggage. 

It’s a story that still lingers in my head. Waiting is a mainstay of life. Beyond the nuisance of waiting for luggage, there is the waiting for a spouse, a new job, a house, or whatever. The desires that fuel our waiting can be so much that we jump on the first hint at an answer to our longing, convinced it is our time. But this isn’t always the case. A closer look may reveal that what we hoped was the answer is not quite right for us. Not this time.

This happened some years ago. A job came up that looked perfect. I applied but on hitting send an overwhelming sense of uncertainty came over me. I prayed it away, convinced the feeling was nerves and certainly not of God. But it didn’t work, the unease persisted, and so I withdrew the application and peace returned. It may sound super-spiritual (I wish that was the case because that’s easy to ignore!) but it was the right decision, something I believe has been confirmed in the years since. 

The little girl from carousel number 10 is a personal reminder to me to not jump on the first hint of my desires being fulfilled. It pays to have a little look at the approaching luggage before wheeling it away to see if our name is written on it. And if it isn’t our luggage, hopefully what’s rightfully ours won’t be too far behind… 

The kindest thing I ever saw ...

I love stories about human kindness. It’s little surprise, then, that when The Guardian wanted to hear from readers about their own tales of humanity’s sweet side for their Upside series, I had to get involved. There were a few stories I could have chosen, but it was a recent observation at a train station that came to mind. I sent the story in and it was included in the piece. It’s one of many inspiring stories featured. So if you’re looking for a heartening, uplifting read, grab yourself a cuppa and enjoy these stories…

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2019/aug/26/upside-kindest-thing-i-ever-saw

The Unwritten and Untold

The one story I seem to tell people the most from a trip I made to America in 2012 is a small episode at a sandwich shop I visited in Chicago. It was lunchtime and the queue was long. I thought I had plenty of time to get my head around the menu and work out what to have. I was so wrong. At the front of the queue, around 30 or so feet in front of me, was a cashier standing on a counter, loudly asking for people’s orders. I quickly realised she would soon be calling out to me. I panicked. This is not normal for me! I don’t want to shout my order, I have NO idea what I want and I am very shy – and British! I quietly hoped she would skip by me. She didn’t, obviously, and so I pretended I didn’t hear her. It didn’t work – it just annoyed her. I turned to her and timidly asked for a bit more time. She obliged, though this was no ‘take your time’ gesture; I knew she would return to me pronto. So I quickly picked a sandwich. I don’t think it was the best on offer, but time was short; careful deliberation was a no-go. I made my order and shared a relieving smile with the lady behind me who seem to sympathise with my predicament.

I always enjoy telling this story. And I have shared it with many people. On the same day I visited the sandwich shop I also went up Willis Tower and took a million photos of ‘The Bean’. I also sampled some AMAZING pizza. But I rarely talk about that. I instead tell people about what happened when buying a sandwich. On reflection, I wonder if this fits a broader pattern. Many of the stories I relish telling and hearing the most are often not the big and spectacular, where something particularly significant happens. Instead they are those small and seemingly insignificant happenings – a good few of which, at the time, can be on the annoying and awkward side. But these are stories, I think, which we all find especially easy to identify with and perhaps offer a more unique insight into us – our perspective, character, personality, feelings. And because of this, like the nudging of the first domino, it are these quirky stories that are oftentimes the prompt for others to follow suit and share their own similar tales.

There are a few other stories I frequently find myself sharing with others. There was the horribly awkward, blushingly-red incident as a waiter, where I dropped a piece of chicken in front of a table of wedding guests. It was painful. Still, the wedding guests had a good laugh. There was the routine train ride where I happened to be sitting next to another Christian. I realised this from a book he was reading. Too scared to begin a conversation with him, I took out a clearly Christian CD and conveniently placed it in his eyesight. It worked a treat. We chatted and, as my stop neared, he kindly prayed for me. There were the tourists in Cambridge who sheepishly approached me whilst I was waiting for a friend, convinced I was Prince Harry. They took some convincing to believe otherwise. And there was the plane journey in which very-tired-me sat next to very-talkative-stranger. After talking for a bit (pre-take-off) I put my headphones into my ear, assuming the chat was over. But that didn’t stop her – she was still in full-flow. I couldn’t help but smile.

Oddly, it are these stories that have got me excited as the new year gathers momentum. Our days are largely more ordinary than extraordinary. But many of the stories we tell our friends at the pub or over the family dinner table or whilst driving with friends – both now and the years to come – are the ones written in the ordinary. They are not momentous, life-changing or particularly revelatory. They may only last the briefest of minutes and, at the time, be painfully awkward. But in them we find a treasure that makes them worth sharing with others – time and time again. This year and beyond, God-willing, are many more pocket-sized moments that have yet to be written and so waiting to be told – one, two, twenty times. I have no idea what they will look like, but knowing that they could happen at anytime puts an added sparkle into each day.

After they have happened, I can’t wait to share them.

And I can’t wait to hear yours, too.