The Pilot and the Packer

Many years back, on the radio I heard

Of a brave pilot who on a ship served.

He was flying a mission, it was not his first

When upon his plane a missile shot burst.

His predicament forced him to jump from the jet,

His parachute buoyed him 'til firm ground he met.

He found he had entered an enemy's land.

They caught him and bound him, by foot and by hand.

He was held in an enemy camp for some years,

Then finally released to great 'welcome-home' tears.

He traveled our country, he'd been asked to speak

Of how he'd survived every day, every week.

Time passed till one day he was having a meal,

When a stranger approached with an urgent appeal.

He asked of the parachute, "Did it work well?"

"Yes, sir, it did, I am happy to tell."

Seeing the question on the pilot's face,

The man started talking and picked up the pace.

"I have always wondered, because, you see,

I packed that parachute, yes, it was me.

I always tried to pack each one with care

In case you should need it when flying up there.

When I heard that your plane had been shot down,

I checked my list and that's when I found

That it truly was I who had made all those folds,

Straightened the panels, and checked all those cords.

When I heard you were captured so long ago,

I hoped you were safe and perhaps I could know

If you got captured on that fateful day

Because my rigging wasn't right in some way."

The pilot was struggling for something to say

To the packer who'd saved him that long ago day.

He gave humble thanks and shook the kind hand

Of the person who'd helped him so safely to land.

That night, the pilot had thoughts that were deep,

Contemplating the packer prevented his sleep.

The pilot kept thinking, "Did I know him back there?

I must have seen him aboard ship somewhere.

Did I pass him on deck? Perhaps in a hall?

What did he look like? I don't know at all."

The pilot then thought of the men on his ship,

He'd been the elite pilot with barely a quip

For those lowly sailors who worked far below

Like the packer who's face he just did not know.

To the chute then the pilot's thoughts took a turn,

Here was a lesson he hoped that all would learn.

After that night, all the crowds he would tell

Of a meek, lowly sailor who did his job well.

How the packer had taken such pride in his task

That so many years later, he just had to ask

If his job had been done as well as it could.

Did the parachute work just as it should?

Yes, the pilot had used many "chutes" to survive

Those years of captivity and come out alive:

His faith, his emotions, thoughts of family,

Loved ones who's faces he hoped he would see.

But the person who truly had saved him that day,

Before their chance meeting, he just could not say,

What the man looked like or from where he came,

Back then, to the pilot, they'd all been the same.

Now when the pilot speaks to a crowd,

His thoughts from that night are spoken aloud.

He talks of gratitude for all those around,

And the crowd turns quiet, not making a sound.

Appreciation, he says, is the word of the day

For each one who helps us along life's way.

Now look around you, do you get to the root?

How do you treat those who are packing your chute?