The Good Samaritan

The Good Samaritan

It happened at the Melbourne International Airport in Florida. I had just landed with my three children, ages 14, 12 and 4, from Jamaica in the Caribbean. I was frightened but did not want my kids to know. We sat where the airport guy had taken us. He had been extremely helpful, taking our luggage and showing us the best place to wait for our pick-up. We had been there for about two hours and my friend had not yet shown up to meet us. I had called his number several times and left messages but got no response.

The airport suddenly became like an eerie and frightening place to be. It was so large and scary to a small-town country girl like me. Having three children did not turn me into an experienced well-traveled person. It was quite a scary responsibility to be on my own traveling to America for the first time with three children. All the tales I had heard about abduction and murder began to crowd my thoughts. What am I going to do if my friend doesn’t show up? What should I do? Maybe I could take a taxi to a hotel; but what if I got a crooked taxi driver, who took us to a lonesome spot and robbed me of my money. Then he would rape me and my daughter and kill my sons so they wouldn’t tell. Or maybe the taxi driver was friendly and took us to a nice hotel nearby. He would drop us there and leave. Then I would find that I didn’t have enough money to get a room, so we would have to sleep in the lobby. My four-year-old would be running up and down in the lobby and my older kids would have to be chasing him. The hotel manager would ask me kindly to leave because we were creating a disturbance.

I tried calling my friend again – no answer. I looked at my children. They showed none of the panic that I was feeling. My teenage son had his head buried in a Hardy Boys novel and was quite oblivious to the world around him. My 12-year-old daughter was quite composed and helpful with her younger brother. She asked me what I was going to do if my friend didn’t show up. I did not know. She suggested that my friend might have been in an accident or might have forgotten to pick us up - both viable suggestions but didn’t help in my situation. I looked around. Passengers were coming and leaving. The airport crowd was dwindling.  I looked outside through the window and saw buses parking and picking up passengers, also cars driving up to the sidewalk and picking up smiling passengers, probably their loved ones, but no one for us. Night was falling and I was scared. I did what I always did in difficult situations, I prayed, Lord, Help me.

On a bench nearby a rather large woman sat. She had been sitting there for a while, always looking at her watch. But she did not look panicky. I was told not to talk to strangers, but she looked quite motherly, so I took my chance. “Hmm mm … excuse me Mam, but could you please tell me what time the airport closes?”

The woman chuckled, “The airport never closes,” she said, and then she moved closer to where we were sitting. I held my purse tighter in case she was planning to grab it. ”Somebody is supposed to come to pick me up but she’s late,” she said, “and you, Missy, all alone with three young ones, are you waiting to get another flight? Shouldn’t you be in the waiting area?” She looked down at my left hand staring at my wedding band. “And where is your husband? Why are you traveling alone?”

Don’t give out too much information. The questions came so fast, one after the other, and the woman seemed so overpowering that I felt I had to answer. “Hmmm … ehmmm…someone is supposed to pick us up.”

“Well dearie, you have been waiting a long time. Did you try calling him or her?”

“Yes, but the call keeps going to voice mail. I don’t know what to do but wait.”

“Well, I will wait with you, because you look so lost and helpless, a perfect target…”

I felt a bit uncomfortable talking to this buxom stranger. But after a while, I relaxed a little and we chatted. Don’t give out too much information. But I told her all about my situation.

My husband is a pastor and he was going to England on furlough. I was going to California with the children to spend time with my brother. But my husband thought it would be educational and fun if we spent a few days in Cocoa Beach and went to the Canaveral Air Force Station to see the spaceships. Our teenage son would love that, so I agreed. My husband made all the arrangements. We had a preacher friend who lived in Cocoa Beach who agreed to pick us up at the airport and put us up for a few days. Then he would put us on a greyhound bus to California. But suppose our friend forgot about the arrangement and did not show up! I did not know what to do. I did not know my way around in this vast place.

“Well, don’t worry, dearie,” the woman patted my hand, “our Lord will take care of you.”

It was comforting to hear her speak of the Lord in such a familiar and loving way. Maybe I could trust this woman after all. She told be her name was Maud and she lived in Cocoa Beach all her life. “What is the name of you friend?” she asked me. I showed her the piece of paper I had in my hand with Rev. Daniel’s name and phone number. “Oh my! oh my!” she exclaimed. “I know that pastor. He visits my church sometimes to preach. I don’t know where he lives but I can try to get in touch with him. He travels a lot, I’m told.”

I felt somewhat relieved. Maud then dialed my Rev. Daniel’s phone number again, but it went straight to voice mail. She left a message on the phone. “Well, Dearie, I have to go. My driver is here now,” she said pointing to a large SUV outside. She got up to leave, and then hesitated, “I don’t want to leave you here with all the uncertainty.”

             “We’ll be alright,” I whispered in a tiny trembly voice.

             “No, no, I’ll send my ride home and stay with you until Rev. Daniel comes.” She was adamant. She hurried outside to talk with her driver. I felt a dismal woebegone feeling when she went through the glass doors. That she may not return entered my thoughts. My daughter whispered in my ear, “She is a nice lady, Mom. I will feel glad if she stays with us. She will know what we should do.” I felt somewhat encouraged by Barbie’s word. She was so mature. All this time my four-year-old was engrossed in making the electronic doors open and close by jumping in front of it. “Tony, stop that,” I tried to sound stern, but weariness and uneasiness were making my voice hollow.

             Through the glass doors, we could see Maud talking to her friend. When she came in, the SUV was still parked outside. “Oh-oh,” I thought. “She is not going to stay with us. She is coming in for her bag which was left on the seat.” But Maud hustled us, “hurry, hurry, get your things. You are coming with me.” I was taken off guard. “What? Where?” Should I be going off with this stranger? It was now about four hours since we had landed, and no one had come up to get us.

A silent prayer, and I said urgently, “Children, get your things. Ernest, get your nose out of that book and grab a suitcase. Barbie, hold Tony’s hand. We are going with Maud.” Maud helped with our things, for she only had one bag. “I am taking you to my house and from there we will keep calling Rev. Daniel. He must get home sometime.”

The next hour went by like a blur. We arrived at Maud’s house and she tried to make us comfortable. But I couldn’t help thinking, suppose this was how people got abducted in America. Suppose she wanted to steal my children and kill me to get them. As if she read my thoughts she said, “Don’t worry, Dear, I am not a wicked woman. I am a Christian woman who is just trying to help. You are safe with me. Just relax, you will get through this. I will keep on calling Rev. Daniel until I get him.”

Maud ushered us into a bedroom that had a King-sized bed and suggested that we freshen up and rest a bit then come in the kitchen for something to eat. The children were too excited to rest and jumped at the invitation to have something to eat. Then they asked if they could watch television.

Nine o’clock passed and we still had not been able to contact Rev. Daniel. I noticed that Maud was getting a little nervous. Thinking that we had imposed on her hospitality enough, I suggested that we should go to a hotel for the night.

“Oh, no!” She said, “You are sleeping here tonight. I am sure we will be able to reach Rev. Daniel in the morning.” Then she sighed, “My only problem is … my husband. He will soon be home and sometimes he doesn’t take kindly to me bringing strangers home. But if he makes disrespectful remarks just ignore him. He is an obnoxious man when he drinks,” she chuckled. Just then, a big, burly looking man came tumbling through the door, shouting Maud’s name. Maud quickly said to him, “Robert, these are my friends. They are crashing here for the night.” Robert glared at us through bloodshot eyes and then repaired to a back room. Maud heaved a sigh of relief and whispered to me, “He is a good man when he doesn’t drink. I pray for him constantly that the Lord will convict him so that he will accept Jesus as his Savior and turn his life around.”

The children slept soundly that night for they were exhausted after a long day. But me? the saying is true, “Uneasy is the head that wears the crown.” I fell into a fitful sleep, wondering what the next day would bring. The next morning, I woke up later than I had intended. The children were still asleep in the large king-size bed we all shared. I could hear Maud laughing in the kitchen. I washed up and went to thank her again for rescuing us. Also, we could try calling Pastor Daniel again. I was more alert and hopeful this time.

Maud was sitting at the kitchen table serving coffee and laughing with a man. He did not look like her husband, Robert. I wondered whether I should disturb them. But she called out to me to come in so I went. “Good morning,” came a booming voice. It was Pastor Daniel.

Rev. Daniel had gotten the dates of our arrival mixed up. He thought we were coming a week later. Anyway, ‘all’s well that ends well’. We enjoyed our visit with Rev. Daniel, including the visit to the space center. He put us on the greyhound as planned and we were off to California.

Over the years I have reflected on ‘the good Samaritan’ who rescued us that day and wish that I had kept in touch.