Our Father, which art in heaven, hi. How are you doing? How’s the family? Have you made any progress on that request I made earlier about Florida Powerball?

Right now, as I’m sure you know, I am miles above Madrid, Spain, captive inside a plane. There are hundreds of us human passengers crammed inside this aircraft, like oysters in a can.

And I can’t help but watch all the people.
Such as the young woman, with her phone sitting face-up on her tray table. She is traveling alone.

She keeps scrolling pictures of her kids. And I’m pretty sure she’s crying because she keeps dabbing her eye with her pinky.

At least I think they are images of her kids, because the children in the photos look just like her. She’s with them in many pictures, too. Holding them. Playing with them. Smiling with them.

I know heartsickness when I feel it, God. I can feel hers. Give her strength.

And the man on my other side. He is older. He looks like he’s in frail health. There is a telltale scar on his neck, right at the base of his throat, from what I believe is a tracheotomy.

His wife keeps fussing over him. She’s nervously asking whether he’s taken his medication. She’s so adamant about this. So panicky.

She is also quite insistent that he not eat much salt. She is forbidding him to eat the sodium-packed airline food, but to eat instead the special salt-free food she packed even though this “special” food tastes flavorless and not unlike—to use his exact words—“something passed through the system of a cow.”

Ease her fears. Restore his health.

And the college-age girl behind me. I can hear her conversation with the older woman who is sitting beside her. They obviously don’t know each other. The older woman is sort of forceful and loud.

The young woman is accommodating and nice. Too nice, actually.

From their conversation, I can tell things about this girl. She’s afraid of upsetting the woman beside her. Terrified of disagreeing. She hardly knows this woman, and yet she is deeply interested in making this woman like her. Replying with all the right answers. Answering agreeably to every question. She is a classic people-pleaser.

Help her. For this is one of the worst sicknesses of all. I should know. Because I have it, too.

Don’t let her lose herself for the sake of obligation. Help her discover herself, however she can. Help her take care of herself. To love herself, so she can learn to love others.

A few weeks ago, I performed in Miss Lydia’s Sunday school class. I brought my fiddle and banjo, and I played old songs like “I’ve Got a River of Life Flowing Out of Me,” “Father Abraham Had Many Sons,” and the song about Andy:

“…Andy walks with me, Andy talks with me…”

And after the songs, Miss Lydia asked the kids to pray. And I expected them to pray for themselves. But when they opened their mouths, they began praying for their classmates. For their friends. For their younger brothers and their older sisters. One kid prayed for some homeless people he’s never met. Nobody uttered a single prayer for themselves.

And when the prayer was over, before the last amen, Miss Lydia said, “Help us to notice others. For whenever we truly see others, then we truly see you.”

Amen.