I was not having a good day in the security line at a local mid-sized airport. I had decided to carry on my luggage, which is increasingly necessary with the extra fees some are charging for luggage. But since I hadn’t “carried on” for awhile, I had forgotten that I had to have a QUART-sized zip-lock bag with all my liquids in it. (Remind me again about how, exactly, this is supposed to prevent bombers from doing their dirty work?)

So there I was with my personal belongs bared to everyone in line and wishing I could fall through the floor.

So I was in line with my bag and they told me I had to place my bag of liquids on top. I didn’t have one. I had a smaller zip-lock bag in my purse but it would not hold all of the stuff I put in my carry-on suitcase. So there I was with my personal belongs bared to everyone in line and wishing I could fall through the floor, not only for forgetting my bag, but for holding up the line. The attendant said, helpfully, “You can purchase a bag in the gift shop for 10 cents.”

So, I was supposed to collect my belongings spilling out of my suitcase, close it up, take my red face out of line, find my way to the gift shop, and spend 10 cents to buy a bag?

Then, out of the blue, a complete stranger waved an empty bag over my head and said, “Here you go.” I was still so embarrassed I barely looked up. So when the whole escapade was finally over, I realized I didn’t even know which passenger I should thank. I went up to one man nearby and asked if he gave me the bag and he said no like I was a weirdo. I decided there was no way to find and thank him other than generically, like this.

Then I realized, the man who gave me the 10-cent bag in the airport wasn’t the only one who might be due thanks.

My husband would thank the man who saved him from an accident because he (the other man) was clearly driving defensively, looking out for the big picture.  

My daughter would thank the man who turned her cell phone in to the city police department. And another daughter would thank the service station owner who found her cell phone and called the “Mom” listed in the directory of the phone.

Then there was the stranger a few years back who changed my tire, unasked, when I was stranded with two of my daughters with a flat tire at a parking lot.

I owe thanks to my parents for giving me life—a very good, plentiful, upbringing on an Indiana farm with a bent to work hard but have lots of fun in the bargain. I owe them even more thanks for teaching me to care about others, and that serving and giving to others is the way to true happiness.

I owe thanks to the unnamed counselor at a church youth group retreat in high school who opened my eyes to the possibility of doing more with my life than “just getting married and having children.”

I owe thanks to the very first editor who ever published my work for pay: a simple poem about a cat. But it whetted my appetite to do more.

I owe thanks to the great seventh grade social studies teacher who caught my friends and I cheating; I was so mortified that I was never tempted to cooperate in one of those “share your answers” schemes again.

I owe thanks to my husband for loving me in spite of the things he would tell you if he could write a column, “The Revenge of the Columnist’s Husband.”

The view from a window seat on a plane, flying over this huge and wonderful world, also brings to mind the debt we all owe to God: what a gorgeous, awesome, expansive world we have. God knows each of us—every single creature—and loves us. In gratitude, we must take care of this world, and love each other and God too.

What debts of gratitude do you owe?