Mark had worked in aviation for nearly fifteen years. It was a job people loved—airports that never slept, crews that changed every trip, long layovers in cities filled with lights, music, and late-night laughter. After flights, most of the crew headed to restaurants or bars near the hotel, still energized from the day.
Mark often wished them well and took the elevator alone. His hotel room looked the same everywhere—neutral walls, a small desk under a lamp, a chair that never quite fit right. He would set his Bible on the desk, open a notebook, and sit quietly for a moment before reading.
Sometimes he studied a Bible course he was taking. Sometimes he prepared notes for a small Bible study he led back home. Other times, he simply read and prayed.
No one asked him to do this. No one applauded it. It was simply how he stayed anchored.
Over time, coworkers noticed—not because Mark said anything, but because consistency has a way of revealing itself.
On a late flight one evening, with passengers asleep and the darkened cabin quiet, a fellow crew member glanced at the Bible in Mark’s hands and asked, “Do you actually like reading that?”
Mark smiled. “If you knew how much this book changed my life, you’d read it too.”
That question led to another. And then another.
Sometimes conversations ended quickly. Other times they stretched across multiple flights. A few ended with Mark helping someone pray—giving their life to Jesus and becoming part of the family of God. Mark never counted. He never kept track. He just kept showing up as the same person, year after year.
One December afternoon, Mark attended a large Christmas banquet at a local convention center. A friend had invited him. The banquet was for pilots and flight attendants. Hundreds of people filled the room. Round tables stretched wall to wall. Stage lights glowed. Large screens played videos as voices and laughter echoed through the space.
As Mark and his friend were led to their seats, something unexpected happened.
He began recognizing faces. Not vaguely—clearly.
The woman coordinating volunteers at the entrance. The man providing organizational leadership. Others helping people find their tables. One by one, a realization settled in. He had worked with many of them over his career. He remembered conversations about Jesus—answering questions about God, Christ, and the Bible. He had led the majority of them to the Lord on flights somewhere in the world.
Each of them greeted Mark warmly—excitedly—as though he were someone deeply meaningful to them, including the host at his own table. It was an acquaintance he had led to the Lord a decade earlier.
As the evening unfolded, a young woman stepped onto the stage to sing. Her voice filled the room. Mark remembered praying with her years before when she had confided that she felt completely lost.
Later, the event’s hostess welcomed everyone and shared a few opening words. Mark remembered her too. She had once been a supervisor on one of his flights, overwhelmed by life. He had led her to the Lord as well.
As the evening continued, Mark sat quietly, hands folded, heart steady—but full.
And then, without spectacle or sound, the Lord spoke gently to his heart:
You don’t always see the influence you’ve had for Me. Tonight, I wanted you to see it.
Tears welled—not from pride, but from gratitude.
This wasn’t recognition from people. It was reassurance from God.
Mark left strengthened and deeply thankful that God had helped him walk out his calling—to be Jesus to the world around him. The Lord had allowed him to see just enough fruit to encourage him for the rest of his life.
It was the greatest reward he could imagine.
Hebrews 6:10 (NLT) For God is not unjust. He will not forget how hard you have worked for Him and how you have shown your love to Him by caring for other believers, as you still do.
