I was eager to return home after a week on the West Coast. The early morning ride, the shuffle through security, and the familiar ritual of finding my gate with a book in hand were all part of the journey. Travel is never just about the logistics—it’s about the people we meet along the way.
A delay and gate change brought me to Gate N3, where I settled in and took a moment to notice those around me. It’s a spiritual practice of mine—to sit with Jesus and ask, “Who am I to notice, Lord?” This time, my eyes landed on two women.
One, mid-thirties, fit, wearing an Army soccer sweatshirt. She carried herself with the quiet confidence of someone on active duty. The other, seated on the ground, wore an aloha sweatshirt that gently framed the curve of her pregnancy. Beside her was a small dog, her travel companion of 11 years.
I felt drawn to them both. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my Navy ballcap, sliding it on with a quiet thought—perhaps this could be a bridge to conversation.
I watched the gentle interactions between the expecting woman and her dog, and after a few moments, I asked softly, “How many weeks along are you?”
“Thirty weeks,” she replied, her hand resting instinctively on her belly. We exchanged warm words about her loyal pup, about the little life she carried within.
Then, the Army soccer woman turned to me and asked. “Did you attend the Naval Academy?”
“Yes, I did.”
“They didn’t accept me,” she admitted.
“Sounds like a mistake on their part.”
She smiled. “My brother attended the Naval Academy, but I went to West Point. class of 2011. When I saw your hat, I looked it up and told my wife—this was the second class of women!” She asked, “What are you doing now?”
I shared that I’m a spiritual director who listens to others on their journey.
As we talked, a tender realization settled in. Her wife. The pregnant woman beside her. So you are the parents, then I stated with a grin. Both smiled and nodded with happiness. I could feel the connection deepen.
And then, the heart of their story unfolded.
They were stationed in Hawaii, making the long journey to New York City—traveling through family stops along the way—to Mount Sinai Hospital. Their son, still in the womb, had a severe medical condition and needed specialist care not available in Hawaii.
The pregnant mother whispered, “We need a miracle.”
I stood, heart, swelling with the weight of their need. “May I pray with you?”
She nodded.
As only the Spirit can lead, I placed my hand gently on her belly and prayed. For healing. for courage. For peace to surround this family. It was a simple prayer, but one filled with the faith that God sees, hears, and moves.
As we parted ways, I carried their names in my heart—Hannah, Alex, and their unborn son. Now, I share them with you to join your prayers.
Wherever and whenever you read this, I ask that you lift them up. I pray that God would be glorified in the mystery of suffering and that He would bring healing in the grief and chaos. That we would dare to hold Him to His promises—to heal the afflicted, to hear our cries, and to meet us in our deepest need.
A ball cap, a gate change, and looking out – God is open for encounter.
Lovely piece, Mary.
Reminds us of impt of daily warm, friendly exchanges with persons in our present space.