Cigar Smoke and Humility

I had an extended layover in Miami on the way back from the DR, and I was pleased to learn the airport had a smoking area where I could enjoy one of the cigars I'd scored on the way out. After a wonderful meal of sliced sashimi and sushi rice, I found the small outdoor bar, ordered an old fashioned, and fired up a Dominicano.

Nick was there — a friendly chap originally from a small mountain town near Steamboat. He'd sold his little house for a significant amount and bought a 65-acre property near Fort Collins. I got to hear about the two barns with dedicated workspaces, the larger house, the cows, goats, and guinea fowl, and the rock walls surrounding the property — which his father relentlessly runs into with the tractor, and which Nick begrudgingly repairs. Four kids with different interests and a wife to ferry them all around. Sounds like the life to me. He made me feel like I didn't have enough points on my man card to share the space with him, but he was down to earth and humble about all of it. I shared a bit about my adventure in the DR, said my goodbyes, and boarded the flight to DFW.

I sat down next to a gentleman and his wife, and shortly after takeoff, he mumbled something to me with a measure of frustration in his voice. When I asked him to repeat it, he kept saying "never mind" — but with an abrasive edge that made it clear he wasn't done being bothered. That got me a little fired up. I wasn't going to let the passive-aggressiveness slide, so I insisted, aggressively, until he finally shared it: the cigar smoke that clings to your clothes and hair — even after smoking in the open air — was making him feel sick.

I felt defensive, along with some other emotions. The man had an accent that triggered a memory of someone who once talked down to me — someone I will never forget. But I wanted to be a gentleman. I was heading home from a mission trip in support of trafficked kids, and the irony of being anything less felt so incongruent. So I paged the flight attendant, explained the situation, and asked if another seat was available. She was understanding, and a few moments later came back to say there was an aisle seat a few rows back. Did I want to take it?

That question stirred up more in me. It made me feel like I was the problem — when clearly the problem was this man's sensitive nose. But I swallowed it and said I'd take the seat. Walking back, I started getting paranoid that the smoking section's ventilation had been insufficient (despite literally being outside) and I really was the problem. Somewhere in all that mental calculus, I remembered a time at a basketball game when a guy came in smelling like weed and sat next to me, and how much it put me off. Maybe I was that guy now. I even asked the same flight attendant if there was a heavy cigar smell coming off of me. She said she couldn't smell anything. It didn't help. I sat down in my new seat and immediately began worrying I was offending these passengers too. I sat there thick with the feeling of being a problem — and then I felt the pride well up in response: this wasn't MY problem, the problem was everyone else.

Before it could take full root, the grace of God redirected me — away from needing to be right, toward being in the service of others and faithful to His instruction. 1 Peter 5:6–7 came to mind: Humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, casting all your cares on Him, so that you may be exalted at the proper time. I pictured myself laid out at the feet of Jesus. I pictured His sandals. And I felt my heart shift from "I need to stand up for myself" to "I'm doing this because I am at Your service." When that switch flipped, His presence came and filled my heart with peace. I thought about Mary at His feet — how she didn't want to move away from the power emanating from His presence. Then I thought about Martha — scurrying about, preoccupied with all the externalities that didn't matter. That's exactly where my mind had been going, wondering what all these people thought of me. It was nice to be at His feet, and trust, and not have to be the one fighting.

It also made me think of all the examples in the Word where He opposes the proud. It seemed to fit — that He will not enter a space where pride exists, and I felt it when my mind would wander off course.

The longer I held that picture, the easier it became to humble myself further: swallow my pride, walk back up the aisle, pull my luggage down from the bin, grab a clean shirt, and go change in the bathroom. I was even able to have a small conversation with the man and his wife while I used my old seat as a table. I asked if he was feeling better. It came from a place of genuine care, and I can claim absolutely no credit for the power to have that conversation. I told her that I could relate to being sensitive to things and His wife thanked me.

Truth and spirit, right there working together, moving this wretch in ways bigger than himself.