by J. Randal Matheny

In 1977 Merhan Karimi Nasseri was expelled from his native Iran, without a passport, for protesting against the Shah. He bounced around Europe in search of a country and finally gained refugee papers from Belgium in 1981. Only to have them stolen. So in August of 1988, he got stuck in Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris, France. No papers, no way of getting out, nowhere to go.

He took up residence in Terminal One. He's been there ever since. He's never put a foot out into the sunshine. Since 1988, he's never had his own quarters, never worked a single day, never walked through a meadow or park.

What a sad thing, right? Yes, until 1999.

That's when he finally got permission to leave the airport. Granted new papers, he can go to any part of Europe, if he wants. But now he won't leave.

"He is scared to leave this bubble world he has been living in," said Dr. Philippe Bargain, the airport's medical director. "Finally getting the papers has been a huge shock to him, as if he was just thrown from his horse. When you wait 11 years for something and suddenly in a few minutes you sign some papers and it's done — imagine what a shock that is."/1

He's free, but after 11 years of captivity in an airport terminal, he just can't bring himself to walk away.

And he has money. Dreamweaver is said to have paid him $250,000 for the rights to his story, for the movie, "The Terminal," with Tom Hanks.

What makes a man with money and papers stay in the terminal prison he inhabited for 11 years?

The same fear that keeps us imprisoned in our resentments, behaviors, vices, and sins. The same feeling of being accustomed to our little world of selfishness, pride, and egotism. The intimate knowledge of every corner of our puny existence versus the great, wide world of God's immense mercy and mission.

Nasseri is not alone in his predicament. So many of us are just like him. Hunkering in our habits, hiding in our corners.

To this day, Nasseri looks out the automatic doors of the Charles De Gaulle Airport and sees the sun, feels the breeze of the open air, but can't bring himself to step out into freedom.

For you, too, the doors are open. The sun of God's grace is shining. The cool wind of Christ's salvation is blowing.

Just walk out. Freedom is a step away.

"For freedom Christ has set us free" (Galatians 5:1).

1/ www.snopes.com

by Barbara Oliver

When I was a child, my mother made me wear big white socks that she had worn until they were too stretched out for her. They were so big I had to put rubber bands around the tops to hold them up.

One day, on my way home from school, it started to rain, and those socks got so wet that the rubber bands couldn't hold them up anymore. They sank down to my ankles in a big, messy clump. The other kids laughed at me, and I began to cry.

Out of nowhere, a big umbrella covered me over, and an arm fell across my shoulders. A soft voice comforted me, telling me that people had laughed at her before, and that I should not pay any attention to those kids. She said it didn't matter what I wore or what other people thought of me because of the way I looked. It only mattered whom I was inside.

I let the warmth of her words and touch soak into my weary young body. Too shy to look up, all I saw were dark legs at the top of her boots.

During times of heartache and trouble, I am reminded of another voice that comforts me. "I will never leave you nor forsake you" (Hebrews 13:5b, NKJV). And I am reminded that part of my job here on earth is to be a comforter (1 Thessalonians 5:11; Romans 12:15, 12:10).

On rainy days, I remember the sweet black teenager who took the time to love a little white kid with droopy socks and a broken heart.