If you’re ever stuck in an airport overnight, never ask the question, I wonder how big this place is? You’ll then be compelled to find out and two hours later, when you’re shuffling like an old man, dragging your bag behind you, you’ll ask yourself a logical follow up like, what difference does it make how big this place is? The Philly terminal is no Ohare or DFW but it’s big enough. I finally sat down to start to write this and was entertained by the guy behind me who was asking for, no, demanding two comp tickets in exchange for the pain and suffering dealt to him via United airlines. He’s now asked for a supervisor for the third time in a row. He asks if he can speak to someone in the United States. I don’t think it’s going well for him. I grin. Wow, it’s true. Misery does love company. Who knew? The bar in front of me has a dozen or so tv sets tuned to sports, weather, the Wedding Singer. I’m sitting just close enough to be able to make out the hurricane (Rita) closing in on the TX border. The tv clicks off. I notice now that they’ve all gone off. The bar is closed and as I look around now, I’m the only one here. This is as eerie as the eye of a storm. As time went on I took to doing some constructive things which I won’t write about because they’re boring. The late hour also gave way to a strange sense of delirium as I took to taking some striking self portraits. I pulled a pole out into the middle of the floor (one of those poles that are used to form lines) and used it as a camera stand. I won’t go into the rest of the details but I’m sure the guys in the security camera room were thoroughly entertained. About 3am I took a walk over to the only restaurant open 24 hrs which happened to be a sushi bar. On the way out, I glanced up at the departure board and read that my 6:20am flight was CANCELLED! I about choked on my salmon and seaweed. (There’s the way not to die. “After a full life he departed this earth in the middle of the night at Philly International, succumbing to asphyxiation from raw fish”). I pulled out my boarding pass, found the 1-800 number and called Continental. First try I got disconnected because the power in Houston went out. Stinkin hurricane. I called back and got the brother of the guy I dealt with the night before. (Probably not but you get the idea) I can’t bear to go into the particulars but we went around til 4am, me trying to get home Saturday, and he saying it wasn’t going to happen until Sunday. When I realized it was 4am and the counter was open, I walked down to the desk and stood in the short line. I got up to the front and while I was on the phone with the guy in Houston, asked the lady behind the counter the same question I had been asking for the past hour on the phone. “I need to get to Austin as soon as possible. Could I please get transferred to another carrier since my flight was cancelled?” SHE SAID, “SURE, NO PROBLEM.” I asked the guy on the other end of the line why this lady did in 10 seconds what he had spent the last hour telling me couldn’t be done. I uttered something sarcastic about his mother and hung up. Ok not really. Got on American Airlines to fly home. While on the plane, I was sitting next to a guy named Daniel who, during conversation, revealed that he was raised Buddhist but had married a Christian girl who had been trying to get him to go to church. As we talked, he kept saying, “I just don’t know. I don’t know.” I’m ashamed to say that I was so tired that I just wanted to go to sleep. I remembered that before I had left Austin Traci and I had lunch at Tres Amigos and in the bathroom I picked up a tract left by the sink. I don’t really know why at the time I picked it up. I reached into my bag, pulled it out, and set it on his tray. On the front it said, “You Can Know.” He read it. I tried not to keep looking over. I noticed that when he got to the last page where the prayer was written, he bowed his head. I trust that at that moment, Daniel invited Jesus Christ into his life. I gave him my information and hope to hear from him. Daniel, if you’re reading this, always KNOW that I’m praying for you. I don’t know who put that tract by the sink at Tres Amigos. I used to laugh at such futile efforts to get the Gospel out. This time, I’m grateful for it. Til next time.