“Don’t forget to say that I’m with you,” I said to my co-worker a few minutes before we boarded the plane recently.
I’d learned the magic of these words from a friend a few years before. By telling the ticket agent I was flying with someone who had priority status, I was privy to the same privileges as that person. Mind you, it wasn’t my own merits or status that gained me these benefits. It was simply my association with someone who had earned them. Undeserved, you say? Absolutely. Unmerited, you protest? No doubt.
I first discovered this on a day when I was headed to New York on business. I ran into a friend at the airport with the same destination as mine. As we headed into the terminal, a sign pointed him to a shorter line for premium flyers. Heaving a sigh, I headed to the back of the longer line designated by the category on my ticket stub. Unexpectedly my companion stopped me.
“Come with me,” he said.
“I can’t,” I protested, feeling a little embarrassed at my lowly status.
“Yes, you can,” he smiled. “I’ll just tell them you are with me.” At first I thought he was a little batty from too much high flying but then he spoke to the person guarding the line. It was like the red sea parted before us. Suddenly, because of my friend’s status, I was an instant VIP. I have to say it gave me a secret thrill. Just being with someone who was considered high priority gave me the same rights as he.
Keep in mind my friend was constantly flying, struggling through the multitudes of people in the world’s busiest airports, waiting for hours on end when flights were delayed or canceled. Because of the rigors of his schedule he had earned a certain status and deservedly so. He could access the airline’s private club and relax between flights. He could board the plane early, getting settled in with a nice fresh glass of something, his jacket hung securely in the front closet by a doting airline attendant. He often got upgraded to first class. He was a professional traveler was treated with special care.
On the other hand, I wasn’t. I’m mostly a Zone 3 or 4 kind of woman, almost always in one of the last groups to board. I won’t say I’m content to be shuffled to the back of the line, but I do understand that I don’t fly as often as others. But oh, how I longed for some special treatment from time to time. Life at the airport isn’t easy! And on that day when someone said, “She’s with me,” I got it. Just like that. I was important because of someone else’s life and status. Even as I say these words, I can’t help but think of grace.
You see, grace is being given something you haven’t earned and don’t deserve. It’s the platinum status of the heavenly skies and it is one of the reasons I have hope. At some point, I stopped depending solely on my own goodness, my own strength, and my own ability to wow heaven, and rested in the fact that heaven had sought me in the person of Jesus. So, when I get to heaven’s gate, I have only one plan. I plan to point to Jesus and say, “I’m with Him.” His status is my undeserved blessing. His goodness is my much needed redemption. His grace is now my joyful, hopeful story.