Often we think miracles must involve some kind of physical healing, or better yet some astrological phenomenon.  Miracles may include such things, but I believe miracles happen everyday and I miss them.  Every so often, however, these cataract eyes can see the Hand that is always working.

Recently I took a week and travelled back to Oregon and Wyoming to visit family and reconnect with friends I had not seen in years.  My flight schedule back home to Kentucky was one of those “airline itineraries” that only make sense to someone in the business.  My father drove me the three hours from his home to the Salt Lake airport, I flew back to Portland (where I had just flown from a few days earlier) only to turn right back around and fly back to Salt Lake and then on to Cincinnati.  All that to say I had a three-hour thirty minute layover in Portland.

So I called Michelle’s grandma in Oregon and asked if I could take her to coffee and catch up for a minute or two while on my layover.  Grandma responded with an enthusiastic yes and we made preliminary plans.  I arrived in Salt Lake for my 7:30a flight at 6:00a and left at 8:05a.

My three and a half hour layover was now only three hours. 

I arrived in Portland already feeling a little stressed, but prayed for “Divine intervention” as I hustled down to claim my bag.  For the first time in all my flying life, my bag was the third off the plane.  I snatched it up and ran up the escalator to the self-check-in kiosk and got my tickets for my return flight in a matter of minutes.  When I finished a window of opportunity stood wide open, no waiting at the baggage check line.  I dumped my bag at the TSA station and took off to catch the TriMet Max train to the agreed meeting destination. 

The train station is located on the opposite side of the terminal.

I made it to the train ticket kiosk with roughly two hours and forty-five minutes left on my layover.  The line was fifteen people long.  A man yelled to the child standing in line in front of me,

“Don’t stand in that line, stupid.  There is another outside.” I didn’t think it a proper way to speak to a child, but appreciated the tip and went outside.  No waiting!  Got my all day Max pass and then beheld the train waiting at the station!  I got on right away and began what would be a forty-five minute trip to where grandma and I were to meet for coffee. 

I met grandma at the train station without incident, but with only two hours left before my flight home was scheduled to leave.  I greeted grandma and her newly 94 year-old husband.  Grandma then informed me that going to the restaurant right around the corner for coffee would, “Take too much time,” and it would be better to go to her house for an egg sandwich.  I panicked but did not protest.

The trip to grandma’s was fifteen minutes.  I now have one hour forty-five minutes before my plane leaves.  I pretend to be calm and fill grandma in on “who is doing what” back in Kentucky.  Grandma, in turn, shows me pictures of Michelle’s uncle who is suffering from cancer induced by exposure to Agent Orange .  She fixes an oustanding egg sandwich and we sit down at her dining table.  I politely inhale it, if such a thing is possible. We chat, I try to be nonchalant as I ask to be returned to the train station.  We put the dirty dishes away, take a quick picture and get in the car to go to the train station. 

I have one hour fifteen minutes before the plane leaves.  I am now unable to control my voice, the pitch is elevated as testimony to the certainty I am going to miss my plane home.

Dean, the 94 year-old driver, makes the fifteen minute trip back to the train station in ten and unbelievably the train is waiting at the station.  I get right on.  I now have exactly sixty-two minutes before my plane leaves.  The train is packed.  I know there is no possible way; I don’t even pray.

The train remains full to the transit center, but arrives in ten fewer minutes than before.  My connecting train arrives a few minutes later and I am back on the wrong side of the Portland Airport in forty minutes.  It is 12:42p and my flight leaves at 1:02p.

I begin jogging, stopping only briefly to confirm that yes indeed, my flight is boarding and “on-time.”  I am sunk.

I arrive at the security checkpoint.  Only eight people in front of me and three lines of anti-terrorist personnel waiting.  I get through security in FIVE MINUTES.  I now am beginning to believe on a completely new level in the reality of a gracious God who does miracles.

I have fifteen minutes before my flight is supposed to leave.

It is “dashing time” to get to the departure terminal.  I attempt to do so without looking too much like OJ Simpson in the old Hertz commercial.  Two gate agents selling credit cards see me coming a far way off and yell to me, “Salt Lake?” I nod as all the air in my lungs is being tasked to propel my legs.  “No worries, take your time!”

I arrive at the gate for my 1:02p flight at 12:59p. There are ten people still standing at the door waiting to enter the jetway.  I am safe; home will soon come.

My ordinary TriMet miracle.

Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think. Glory to him in the church and in Christ Jesus through all generations forever and ever! Amen.” (Ephesians 3:20–21, NLT)