Have you ever felt you were being watched by someone you didn’t know, in a setting that made it all the more unsettling?
You’re sitting at the end of an aisle in a packed school auditorium during your child’s annual Christmas play. Hundreds of parents and relatives fill the room. Your eyes drift from the stage to the aisle across from you, four rows ahead—and you notice a man staring directly at you. As soon as he realizes you’ve seen him, he quickly turns away. A few minutes later, curiosity gets the better of you and you glance back. Again, he’s staring—and again, he looks away.
Your instinct might be to jump up mid-performance, confront him, and say, “Hey, do you have a problem?” But of course, you don’t. When the play ends, he disappears into the night, and you’re left wondering why he was watching you at all.
Early in my leadership with Every Home, I once took an evening flight from Los Angeles to the East Coast for a speaking engagement. The flight had a stop in Denver for a crew change before continuing on to my destination.
I was seated in economy, about eight rows behind the galley where a curtain was drawn while a flight attendant prepared a light snack. As I glanced up from my reading, I noticed a head peeking through a small opening in the curtain—directly at me. The moment she realized I had seen her, she dropped back behind the curtain. A few moments later, it happened again. Then again. I began to feel uneasy.
Did she think I was a terrorist? My carry-on had been especially heavy, and I had struggled to lift it into the overhead compartment. Did she think it was a bomb?
About 15 minutes after the snacks were distributed and the cabin was cleaned up, I noticed the same flight attendant walking down the aisle. To my surprise, she stopped beside my row and knelt down in the aisle next to me.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said with concern on her face, “but are you a Christian?”
Startled, I replied, “Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”
“May I sit beside you and talk with you for a few minutes? It’s very important to me,” she said.
I agreed immediately. The flight was only half full, and the two seats beside me were empty.
Before I could say another word, she continued. “I almost didn’t make this flight tonight because I’ve been in deep despair for quite some time. I had decided to end my life in my hotel room in LA, but I heard a voice in my heart telling me I must take this flight.” Through tears she added, “The voice said there would be a Christian on this plane who would help me find my way out of the darkness.”
After wiping her eyes, she went on. “Since we left Los Angeles, I’ve been looking up and down the aisles, trying to figure out who might be that Christian. I didn’t even know what that was supposed to look like. But when I saw you, something inside me said, ‘That’s him.’ I was so relieved when you told me you are a Christian. Can you help me?”
Over the next 30 to 45 minutes, I had the joy of sharing with her how knowing Jesus could change her life and restore a joy deeper than anything she had ever known. When the flight landed in Denver and the crew changed, she left with peace and joy on her face.
That night taught me what it truly means to be a carrier of Christ in everyday, ordinary life. What seemed like just another routine flight suddenly became a divine appointment. The Holy Spirit transformed an ordinary moment into a life-changing encounter for someone desperately searching for hope. And that night, she found that hope in Jesus.
The Apostle Peter captures this calling simply when he writes:
“Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect” (1 Peter 3:15, NIV).
If you are a Christian, you are a carrier.
Pass it on.
Dick Eastman
