Lost Luggage

“I’d like to fly to Dallas,” the man told the girl behind the counter, “but I want my bags to go to Milwaukee.”

“I’m sorry sir,” the little thing said with a puzzled look, “we can’t do that.”

“Why not,” the weary traveler replied, “you did last week.”

Anyone that is at least a Silver Medallion knows the feeling. Last week I flew in from Nicaragua after a hard two weeks of teaching. I couldn’t wait to get home and sleep in my own bed. As I stood at the end of the conveyor belt with expectations of getting my bags, I suddenly realized I was the only one still at baggage claim. Everyone else had picked up their bags. I was all alone. A few minutes ago, there had been a long line of people at the Hertz rental counter nearby, but now they were all on their way home or business with me left holding my carry-on. There I stood, by carousel number two, wondering what my next move should be. As I surrendered to the reality that my bags were a no-show, I walked slowly down the hall to report that, once again, I made my connection, but my suitcase didn’t.

“What color is your bag, sir?” the employee, who was the symbol of my wrath, asked as I filled out the lost baggage claim. I would love to take it out on him, everyone else does, but he didn’t lose my bag so there’s no honor in beating him up.

“Black,” I replied with a bit of an edge. Of course the bag is black, they all are. Luggage manufacturing is a throwback from Henry Ford’s Model-T days when that was the only color car that came off the assembly line. Yeah, I guess I could carry my wife’s pastel flower suitcase, but who wants to risk being called a girly-man just to be able to identify a bag? Her suitcase stands out so much that everyone at baggage claim watches to see what type of person would EVER put they’re clothes in that thing. No thanks, I’ll put a thousand ID stickers on it, but the suitcase will always be black. And the stickers will be manly. No Minnie Mouse or Pooh stickers for me. I also don’t believe in suitcase evangelism, so you won’t see any “I fly with Jesus” stickers on them either. “It’s just a plain black suitcase,” I confessed sadly.

After giving my name and address for the delivery of my bag, (if it ever arrives!), I head outside the terminal, wondering if this is another one of God’s tests on my spirituality. Granted, this wasn’t as dramatic as Job losing his cattle and children, but I wonder if He wasn’t saying to Lucifer, “Have you considered my servant Lewis, at baggage claim two, that there is none like him in all the earth?” Though I would never curse my Creator over this, I came pretty close to cussing out His creation working at Continental.

But wait a minute - I need to look on the bright side. After all, I did make my connection and the plane didn’t crash. Another safe landing, that’s always a very strong positive event. And what an exciting life I live that I can even lose luggage! There’s a ton of people in this world who would love to travel, see the world and even lose their suitcase. Lost luggage for those who seldom travel would be a major part of their story to tell to family and friends. What a great privilege I have to put the airlines in a position of losing my bags every month! As irritating and inconvenient as it was, I didn’t lose my temper. (Good job, Lewis). Maybe I did pass the test. No, I didn't cheerful and say, “God bless you sir, I know it wasn’t your fault,” but I also didn’t give him an earful of how incompetent his company was. I hate to be around people who miss their flights because of a delay or bad weather and they yell and scream at the ticket agents who are in charge of getting them on another flight. Gee, lighten up folks, they didn’t fly the plane.

The reality is, losing luggage comes with the territory of my life. I can’t drive from Managua to Springdale, so I can either quit traveling or quit getting uptight about the inconveniences that are just a part of my rewarding profession. The truth is, the bags always show up eventually. So as I pack for my next trip, I can honestly say, “Thank you, Lord, for another opportunity to serve you in another city and country.” As I walk up to check-in, I resist the urge to say, “I’d like to fly to India, but I want my bags to go to…oh, just surprise me.”