I just found the post. You would have given her a piece of your mind, but he gave her some very slow and deliberate blinks to silently thank her for using her Christlike superpowers to restore his humanity. Of course he did.

*****

[bold]ONE LAST THING:[/bold]

Take home of the weekend/day/entire book tour whatever…

[bold]You have NO idea what kind of day someone has had. No idea. None. And so, be kind.[/bold]

Someone at the curbside of LAX almost punched Cowboy in the face as he was loading our luggage into a Lyft he’d just ordered on the app. This man’s family were removing the last piece of their luggage when Cowboy began loading my bag into the car. Something about that set this man off and he rounded the car—I had no idea that this family was even getting out of this car, so all of this happened in what seemed like an oblong millisecond to me—to yank my bag out of the door, slam it onto the pavement and get so up into Cowboy’s face that I really did think I was going to witness physical violence. I was scared. I was terrified. I thought I might see blood.

When he turned to face me to walk back around the car, I stopped him. I had no idea what I was doing—it was just an instinct, a reflex. I touched his arm, and then wrapped my fingers around that part of your wrist that sits so very close to the rest of the muscles that make up your forearm. I could google the names of those muscles… the flexor carpi ulnaris? the flexor carpi radialis? the palmaris longus? I grabbed him there and gently squeezed as I found his eyes. And I pulled him toward me. Yes, he could’ve decked me right there, but I didn’t care. And I said, “Hey, I’m Heather. I’m so sorry you’re upset. You must have had a horrible day. I can only imagine, and this airport is a nightmare and always makes things worse. I’m so sorry that we contributed to your bad day this way. I care. And I really hope your day gets better.”

And then I moved my hand down to squeeze his hand, to let him know that I meant it.

He nodded at me. And I could then see he was holding back so much inside, so much of what he has had to carry.

He then continued to the curbside where the rest of his family was waiting for him. And I made a point of making eye contact with him again when he strapped a computer bag to his shoulder, and I nodded at him. He nodded once again at me and slowly, silently, and deliberately blinked his eyes while holding my eye contact to communicate everything that he could not possibly ever say to me, a stranger.

I am not a believer in Christ except in all of the stories about what he gave to the sick and the poor and the lonely and diseased and those who disagreed with him most, those who grabbed him and wronged him and yelled at him and tormented him. He gave them their bad day, their bad month, their bad year. He gave them their humanity.

We all have our terrible moments. I have had so very many, and my god, the years I have to make up for the horrible ways I have reacted to people I thought have done me wrong. If only we could recognize ourselves in others who are having a terrible day and let them have their moment of weakness. It’s as basic as wanting food from our parent when we are an infant: [bold]I am weak in this moment and am imperfect. Please believe that this is not the sum total of me.[/bold]

In those very slow blinks that he sent across the five feet between us, from curbside to my face at the far end of the car, that man let me know that he’d felt the intent in the hand I had wrapped around his forearm. And I selfishly swallowed so hard and with such relief knowing that people are people are people.

We are all, all of us. Having our days.