My Journey Back To Toddlerhood

Are you aware that airline pilots are elusive little creatures? I was unaware of that snippet of knowledge until the end of 2007. I had surprised Chad with tickets for the two of us to visit his parents over the New Year holiday and his birthday. With great excitement and anticipation we boarded our flight in Oklahoma City bound for the Quad Cities Airport in Moline, Illinois by way of Atlanta Georgia. For the record, the geographical route made absolutely no sense to me, but the connecting flight saved us a couple hundred dollars, so I jumped at it. That flight left the runway just a little late due to a necessary de-icing of the plane. Now I must admit that it unnerved me somewhat to know that if that pink foamy stuff they were spraying all over the plane were not being utilized that our plane could hurtle to the earth ending in a fiery mass on the runway. I was so not loving that mental image, so I sat patiently and willingly as they removed the ice from the big metal tube with wings. After all, my wonderful husband and I were together…alone, and without parental responsibility. Nothing would spoil my mood. The flight landed late in Atlanta…just late enough that our connecting flight gave up on us and left without our seats occupied. They obviously didn’t know who we are. My thought process was, “It’s okay. We are adults and we can handle this.” We headed for the phone station to receive further instruction from our airline. How fortunate we were to be connected to a very sweet woman who seemed sensitive to our plight. We searched for another flight north, but the airport to which we were flying had completely closed for the day due to a northern snowstorm.
Now let me fill you in…Chad and I had been married for nearly ten years and had never been to see his family around the holidays. Why? He was concerned that we would get caught in bad weather. I always responded with, “Don’t be silly! We’d be fine.” At that particular moment in the Atlanta Airport, I was gagging on the bitter taste of crow. He was right. The weather was an issue. I just hate that!
Anyway, we were to be rerouted to a city we had never heard of, but apparently was only a couple of hours from his parent’s home. Fortunately we had taken Chad’s new Garmin GPS on the trip with us…no doubt a quickening of the Lord. Feeling there was still hope for a wonderful trip, we took what was offered to us like children facing a plate full of spinach and brussel sprouts and headed for our gate. Within 30 minutes that green “on time” notation next to our flight number changed to a daunting red and the words morphed into the dreaded word “delayed”…30 minutes, then 45 minutes, and then two hours. After eight hours of waiting through various delays, we were told the reason for the delays. They were looking for our flight crew! HOW do you lose a crew of FOUR PEOPLE?!?!? With each delay, my nerves grew as frayed as a string in a 2 year old hooded sweatshirt on a college dorm room floor. My emotions were dammed up because I am, after all, the “eternal optimist”!! I had to keep my cool! I was considering a carefully but sternly worded letter to the corporate offices of the offending airline…a letter that would never be penned. I’m not certain what the trigger was, but something very minor blasted a gaping hole in that dam of emotion, rendering my face an aqueduct of mascara infused waterfall. I cried and cried and cried and cried…and then I cried some more. ”They’ve ruined your birthday trip,” I wailed. Imagine, if you will, a toddler crying without inhibition, head thrown back, mouth agape, howling an infantile dramatization. Of course that wasn’t the actual scene, but it certainly was the movie playing in my mind. I felt like the victim of a serious injustice. Fueling that emotion was my stark raving calm husband, who had transformed into a rational and comforting lunatic. How dare he! There I was amidst my emotional meltdown, feeling fully entitled to the moment of insanity, and he was saying everything was going to be okay. ”After all,” he crooned, “we are here together and isn’t that part of the beauty of this trip? We never get time alone together.” I felt much like our oldest son must have felt when I walked away from him mid-fit in Wal-Mart when he was 2 years old, exposed and completely ridiculous. He was right. Man! I really hate that. I sniffed, gathered my breath, wiped my snotty nose on my sleeve (not really), and decided to be a big girl. The flight was finally successful. We were able to locate a ridiculously overpriced rental car, which almost sent Chad into a similar downward spiral, and after a well guided tour of southern Illinois, arrived safely in Princeton, Iowa around 3:00 a.m. There was no less than two foot of snow on the ground and I was absolutely in Heaven!! We sneaked into the house of his parents who had no clue we were coming for a visit, hoping to avoid the business end of a shotgun. We creeped up the stairs, strategically avoiding the noisy steps. We stealthily maneuvered our way into the bed with moves like a sleek black jungle cat only to be found out by the resounding “SQEAK!” that the offended bed released upon our rest upon it. My father-in-law was up the stairs and in the doorway in a flash…okay, so he very cautiously approached the door, popped his head around the corner and whispered in a raspy demand, “Who’s there?!” Chad gleefully answered, “Hi, Dad! Merry Christmas!” His parents were overjoyed, although, I fear I should prepare for a surprise visit sometime in the future since turnabout is fair play. Oddly enough, my “flight plan” had placed us at our final destination about 8 hours later than a road trip that would have cost about a third of the cost of airline tickets and a rental car would have.
Today as I write, I am sitting in the airport in Phoenix, Arizona. I have been here since 7:30 for a flight that was to leave at 9:30. I take that “arrive two hours early” suggestion very seriously. It is now 11:00 a.m. Why the delay? They can’t find our pilot and one of the flight attendants. Upon the announcement, I felt that toddler begin to rear her over-emotional head. Thoughts began to run through my mind…”Hello! We’re in an airport! Grab a pilot and let’s go! I’ll even give up my fizzy drink and quarter ounce bag of peanuts…leave the flight attendant behind!” I quickly decided another emotional meltdown would do no good and sent the toddler back to bed with a cup of warm milk. Awww! I’m growing up. Chad would be so proud! Even though I miss my sweet husband and kids desperately, I know I am going home today. My anticipation will endure. Funny that our relationship with God can be much like these two very similar situations. We have two choices when faced with daily circumstances—one is positive; the other is negative. We can choose to throw our sucker in the dirt, convincing our selves that life is just out to get us. Or we can view it as a mini-vacation from the outside world, an opportunity to just relax and accept what has been placed in front of us. In December, I chose the first. Today, I chose the second, catching up on some reading and doing some writing. Now, before you get the impression that I had a three-month transformation from the toddlerhood to adulthood, allow me to clarify…I haven’t. Just ask my family. Today was just a good day. The maturity fairies found favor in me and equipped me well. Tomorrow could be an entirely different story. But for today, I am embracing that verse in Proverbs 5:3. “Lean not on your own understanding, but in all you ways acknowledge him and he will direct your paths.” I know there was a purpose for my experiences, I just don’t understand them. God does, though. He knows it all, every bump in the road, every curve, and every hill. You see, there is plenty I would do differently if I were in charge. Today, my goal is the same in regard to spirit and personal geography—home. I want to go home. God is gracious enough to lead me toward both earthly and heavenly home. I am blessed. I have an internal GPS, so to speak…now if I would just always turn it on. I am, however, still going to submit my suggestion that pilots and flight attendants be equipped with bells around their necks, because this business of losing full-grown people, especially really important ones like pilots in airports, simply must stop. Are we certain Amelia Earhart wasn’t an airline pilot? Check the logs, people! She may be held captive in some remote airport terminal somewhere. It’s just all a mystery to me.