Today, I’m flying to Orlando to speak tomorrow and Wednesday to parents who have children enrolled in the International Community School in Winter Park. I’m looking forward to it. I’ll also get some work done face-to-face with Randy Thomas. Yea!

When flying to or from Orlando, there are always more children than on other flights. I remembered this blog, first published on February 6, 2012, and decided to republish it. I hope it’s encouraging and thought-provoking, too.

What does security look like? Here’s one example:

The dad took the seat across the aisle from his wife and young daughter. They settled in for the flight to Mobile, Alabama, and discussed an activity they’d do when spending time with her grandparents.

After we took off, the girl fell asleep. She awoke when the pilot began our descent from 35,000 feet and pressure in her ears caused pain.

The mother handled her daughter’s discomfort brilliantly. For the remaining 15 minutes of our flight, she leaned over to get even closer to her daughter. She maintained close contact, often stroking her hair. She regularly had her drink water, hoping the swallowing would help.

The mom remained calm and never sounded mad. She respected her daughter, knowing it wasn’t her fault she was in pain. She knew the tears weren’t misbehavior or disobedience. They were a consequence the girl couldn’t control.

Through quiet conversation, the mom encouraged her daughter to not scream loudly, most likely out of concern for the rest of us on the plane. But she never raised her voice and never told her to stop crying. Very impressive!

The dad handled things well, too, by not interfering. He never reacted to make his wife feel like she wasn’t doing enough to calm down their daughter. When she did stop crying, he didn’t ask her why she was crying and he didn’t tell her not to do it next time. What did he say? “I’m so sorry you were in pain and I’m so glad you’re not anymore.”

Seriously? Impressive. Sadly, based on my experience, that’s uncommon love.

Security is rooted in trust. That’s what this family has. How I wish every child had it!

Does yours? What can change? Who can change?