Right now, I’m sitting quietly in the Charlotte airport, my coffee cooling beside me as I wait for my friends Clay and Rebekah. I’m partway through the journey to Lviv, and as I watch the streams of people passing by — rolling suitcases, clutching coffee cups, adjusting backpacks — I find myself drawn into reflection.

There’s a certain beauty in airports that I often miss in the rush to get where I’m going. Here, gathered under one roof, are men and women from every walk of life. Different races, different languages, different ways of dressing and carrying themselves. Some in suits, striding with urgent purpose. Some in jeans and t-shirts, wandering a little wide-eyed. Some tired, some excited, some lost in their own thoughts.

And yet — in every face, a story. In every life, the sacred imprint of God.

Scripture tells us, “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.” (Genesis 1:27, ESV).
It’s easy to affirm that in theory. But here, in the hum of announcements and the shuffle of footsteps, it feels tangible. Real.
Every person carrying hopes, fears, burdens, dreams.
Every person beloved by the Creator who shaped them with care.

It humbles me. It softens me.

Because if I’m honest, it’s easy to slip into my own little bubble — to see only my own journey, my own mission, my own people. But sitting here, watching the ebb and flow of humanity, I’m reminded: no one here is an extra in the story of the world. No one is invisible to the eyes of God.

The businessman tapping away at his laptop.
The weary mother juggling a toddler and a stroller.
The older couple holding hands as they find their gate.
The teenager traveling alone, earbuds tucked in, face serious.
The gate agent calling names over the loudspeaker.

Every single one — a reflection of divine creativity.
Every single one — a soul for whom Christ came. “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:10, ESV).

And so I sit here, heart open, breathing a prayer for the strangers I will never meet again.
A prayer that they will know — somehow, some way — that they are seen, known, and deeply loved by the One who knit them together. (Psalm 139:13-14)

Maybe the next time you find yourself in a crowd — at the airport, in the grocery store, at a concert, or just in traffic — you’ll feel it too.
The quiet awe of realizing: we are surrounded by image bearers.
We are walking among the handiwork of God.
And maybe that realization will change the way we look at each other — with more tenderness, more patience, more wonder.

Even here.
Even now.
Especially now.