The Holy Man of Hartsfield-Jackson Airport
- Maggie Wallem Rowe
- Mar 25
- 5 min read
Would you rather listen while you're busy with other things? I've recorded my letter to you here.
In Today’s Letter
- Holy men and women are all around us, if we have eyes to see.
- Are you a victim of “Big T” Trauma? Recommended podcast episode
- Links to previous letters in this Lenten series
I NEVER WOULD HAVE MET HIM were it not for a missed flight.
Scheduled to speak ten days ago at a one-day women’s conference in northern Idaho, I knew to book an early flight out of Asheville the day before. Arriving at AVL around 5 am, I parked, checked in, and was on board by 7 —plenty of time for the quick hop to Atlanta where I’d have two hours to connect to my cross-country flight to Spokane.
As you frequent fliers know, “plenty of time” is an aviation oxymoron. Our onboard computer system went down, and the captain cheerfully informed us she’d been advised to power down the plane, wait 15 minutes, and then reboot. Sounded good to me—it’s what my son reminds me to do when my iPhone or MacBook has a glitch.
But when our bird refused to budge, the pilot powered down once more, and again we sat. And sat. And sat. You’ve been there too, with your gut doing gymnastics while your mind spins through options, most of them poor.
I’ll spare you the play-by-play of the next few hours (deplaning, rebooking, reboarding, arriving in Atlanta well after my connecting flight had departed.) There was only one late-evening flight remaining to Spokane. If it failed to take off, the waiting church in Idaho would be left without a speaker.
Even when our faith is strong, the body keeps the score, doesn’t it? Every muscle in my back and brain were tense. With a nearly ten-hour wait for that last scheduled flight, I texted my hosts for prayer and located a food court with outlets where I could charge my computer.
A big cup of Chick-Fil-A diet lemonade did nothing to calm my agitation. But as I sipped, I noticed a tall, white-bearded gentleman moving quickly from table to table, scrubbing counters, mopping floors, and removing the detritus travelers leave behind.
As he cleaned the counter next to me, I noted his name-tag.
“You’re doing a great job, Timothy,” I commented. “Thanks for picking up after us all.”
He straightened, hand on his back, and smiled.
“I love this job,” he said simply. “I had a bad few years there, and my son finally told me to haul my bee-hind off the couch and get a job! I’ve been workin’ here at Hartsfield for two years now. Best thing I ever done. I’m in the best shape of my life—walk at least ten miles here every day.”
He shook his head. “I’m a blessed man. Can you believe they pay me to do this?”
Several hours later, Timothy made his rounds again. Since he looked close to my age, I ventured a question.
“It’s usually parents who tell their kids to get a job,” I said. “Mind if I ask what prompted the role reversal?”
Timothy continued to scrub.
“Oh, I retired years ago, and then that Covid came, ya’ know. It didn’t get me, but my wife was asthmatic. Five days after she got sick, she was gone. I couldn’t even sit with her in the hospital. Four years ago, now. She was only 4 foot 7 – a bit of a thing – and she was tough. Nobody ever messed with her. But that dang disease…”
I asked him to tell me about her. He grabbed his cleaning rag (“Not break time yet!”) and squinted into the distance.
“We was married 42 years. Her name was Joanna – like that woman who followed Jesus. And she shore did, that woman of mine. Now me, I was a wild one. I didn’t find Him till I was 40. Joanna showed me the way.”
So Timothy was a believer. Somehow, I was not surprised. We live in a culture where many profess faith, but fewer live it out. Jesus said we’ll know them by their fruits.
“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven.” Matthew 7: 21
Hours passed. Late afternoon. Early evening.
Timothy came by again, finishing his shift while I tried to work and monitor notifications about my flight.
“Still here, miss?” he chuckled. “Gonna have to charge you rent purty soon.”
I smiled for the first time that day. “They’ve changed my gate three times, Timothy. If I miss this flight, I’ll be breaking my commitment to a church out west where I’m scheduled to speak in the morning.”
Timothy paused in his work, considering.
“You’ll be on that flight,” he said with assurance. “I watch out for people here in ‘Lanta—anybody sad or in trouble. Flight crews, too. They pay me to clean, but my real job is lookin’ out for people.”
He winked. “God’s gotcha, and He’s got that church too.”
I studied him a moment. Timothy. Why had his parents given him a name that predicted the man he would become? The Apostle Paul counseled his young disciple Timothy not to let anyone look down on him because of his age, but to set an example for the believers in speech, conduct, love, faith and purity. (1 Timothy 4:12 NIV)
This maintenance worker at the world’s busiest airport seemed just such a man. A holy man.
Holy men and women are all around us, you know. Believers who quietly live out their faith with a broom or a prayer book in their hands.
Christ followers who care for the hungry, the thirsty, the poor, the incarcerated, the homeless.
Jesus-lovers watching to serve Him in every situation — especially when He appears in disguise as the immigrant. The refugee. The single parent.
The exhausted caregiver. The prodigal. The widow or the orphan.
The least of these.
Even the harried, hassled traveler who caught the very last flight to Spokane that night, having had one of her best days ever.
Awed by a glimpse of the holy,
Maggie
IT’S YOUR TURN. Have you ever had an encounter with a stranger that changed the course of your day? Please tell us about it below.
[Did you miss the first two letters in this new Lenten series? They’re linked below if they might be useful to someone you know.}
If you have a friend who has been a victim of sexual abuse or "Big T" trauma, the following podcast featuring certified therapist Lisa Saruga – herself a survivor – is excellent.
LISTEN HERE
https://stillbecoming.podbean.com/e/season-6-episode-47-trauma-does-not-define-you-hope-for-every-wounded-heart-with-lisa-saruga/