[Craic] Fwd: [Softedges] Gate A-4: Soft Edges, Dec. 28, 22023, Ssoft Edges column

[Allan Baker]

> Begin forwarded message:
> 
> From: Jim Taylor <rewrite at shaw.ca>
> Subject: [Softedges] Gate A-4: Soft Edges, Dec. 28, 22023, Ssoft Edges column
> Date: December 30, 2023 at 2:53:11 PM EST
> To: Softedges <softedges at lists.quixotic.ca>
> Reply-To: rewrite at shaw.ca
> 
> JT note: I thought I had sent this already, but I can't find any confirmation of that assumption in my email program. If this is a duplicate, I apologize (Hey, I'm Canadian, we apologize for anything). 
> 
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>  
> Miracle at Albuquerque airport, Gate A-4
> By Jim Taylor
>  
> Thursday December 28, 2023
>  
> I ran across this story shortly before Christmas. It was never intended to be a Christmas story, but it seems to me that it has more to say about Peace, Hope, Joy, and Love, than many other stories do. It’s told by an Arab-American poet, Naomi Shihab Nye. If you’ve never read any of her poetry, it’s worth looking up. I reprint her story here by permission of the Centre for Action and Contemplation, in Texas.
> ************
> Wandering around the Albuquerque Airport Terminal, I heard an announcement: “If anyone in the vicinity of Gate A-4 understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately.”
>             Well—one pauses these days. Gate A-4 was my own gate. I went there.
>             An older woman in full traditional Palestinian embroidered dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. “Help,” said the flight service person. “Talk to her.… We told her the flight was going to be late and she did this.”
>             I stooped to put my arm around the woman and spoke to her haltingly. “Shu-dow-a, Shu-bid-uck Habibti? Stani schway, Min fadlick, Shu-bit-se-wee?” 
>             The minute she heard any words she knew, however poorly used, she stopped crying. She thought the flight had been cancelled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for major medical treatment.… I said, “No, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just later. Who is picking you up? Let’s call him.”
>             We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother … and would ride next to her.… She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and they spoke for a while in Arabic and found out of course they had ten shared friends. 
>             She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life, patting my knee, answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the mom from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There is no better cookie.
>             And then the airline broke out free beverages … and two little girls from our flight ran around serving us all apple juice and they were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
>             And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in that gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. 
>             This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.
> *****************************************
> Copyright © 2023 by Jim Taylor. Non-profit use in congregations and study groups, and links from other blogs, welcomed; all other rights reserved.
>             To comment on this column, write jimt at quixotic.ca <mailto:jimt at quixotic.ca>
> *****************************************

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