We were in the Chicago airport on our way back home after a week in the so aptly name “Windy City.” We’d attended a wedding for Dan’s great niece and afterward spent four days in downtown Chicago getting our Big City Fix. It was fun to go to museums, use public transportation, try out ethnic restaurants and people watch as we walked from the hotel for hours. But I was ready to come home. The weather was contrary to say the least: 6 inches of snow during the wedding and just plain Chicago cold the whole time. I’d thrown a light parka into my suitcase at the last minute and I never took it off! Over layers of sweatshirts. Oh, and did I mention the miles of snarled traffic? New Meadows is an oasis in comparison.

After hiking through two endless terminals at O’Hare airport to get to our gate, we sat down to eat something before our flight. The cafe was crowded with small tables practically bumping up to each other. Two men sat down next to us. The one closest to me had sparse, spiked hair, earrings, tattoos and wore a choker necklace. His face was sallow and thin with sharply defined features. His companion looked more ordinary, like our Illinois nephews. I assumed they were partners. Dan later said he thought so too. While we ate, they began to chat with us. How was the food? Where had we been? Where were we going?

Now Chicago being what it is, my cautious husband was reticent and didn’t engage with them. I was less guarded and offered my French fries across the tables since the service was slow. We were very wrong about them. Gil, the spiky haired man, was in Chicago for his fourth or fifth round of cancer treatment at Cancer Center of America. Remy, his brother-in-law accompanied him for support during the week of treatment. As they spoke about the care, length and costs of his treatments, Gil still seemed hopeful. I listened to the long list of surgeries he’d had and still faced, hoping my face didn’t register dismay.

Then, I sensed God’s familiar nudge. “Oh, no,” I lamented. “Not here in public. It’s crowded. They’re strangers. They might get offended.” It was no use. After Dan left to check on the plane’s status, I turned to Gil. “Uh, this may seems a bit strange and I, umm, don’t want to seem weird, but , umm, I pray for people, especially for those with cancer. Can I pray for you?” His face broke out in a big smile. Sure, he said. “A lot of people have been praying for me.”

I took his hands and prayed for his healing, but have no idea what I said. It certainly wasn’t eloquent but that didn’t matter. The moment was from God’s heart to the heart of this stranger. As I left the table, I heard Remy say, “Wasn’t that nice of her!” Gil and Remy had no idea how they blessed me instead.

The Lord had actually been working on me the whole time. I feared praying in public, but privately didn’t have any problem judging their life style. I feared offending someone by praying, yet how much worse would the offense have been to ignore this man’s need for healing. On my own, fear would have hogtied me from reaching out, but with Holy Spirit, all things are possible. Gil and Remy were strangers only for as along as I chose to keep them at arms’ length. It was God’s touch at O’Hare airport for them – and for me.