When You're Ready To Fly Above The Clouds But All You See Is The Airport

 Picture Home Alone. Can you see the McCallister family running through the airport?

Run, run Rudolph, Santa’s got to make it to town…

That was me in Dallas about a month ago. Trying to make my connecting flight. The one that would get me to San Antonio for the ACFW conference. More specifically, a reception being hosted that afternoon. A reception where contest finalists had the chance to meet agents and editors. I was a contest finalist. And who knew when I might ever be a contest finalist again?

So I ran—not stopping for the bathroom break I so desperately needed, or the coffee I so desperately craved. You’d think for someone who just got inducted into their high school’s athletic hall of fame for holding a track record, I should have made it in plenty of time. Or at least without all the hyperventilating and sweating.

But no. By the time I boarded the plane, I was staggering down the aisle, ripping my sweater off and panting, “I made it. Oh hallelujah, I made it.” I swung my carry-on into one of the overhead bins, high-fived all the passengers sitting in aisle seats on the way to my own seat, and collapsed with relief. Well, almost relief. I still needed that bathroom. But seeing as we were about to take off, I could wait.

Because the worst was over. I’d made the connecting flight. All that was left was a short jaunt from Dallas to San Antonio. A quick Uber right from the airport to the conference hotel. Registering. Finding the room for the reception. And not making an idiot of myself.

I got this. I clipped my seat belt. Tugged it tight. Grabbed hold of the arm rests. I was ready to fly.

And then the pilot’s voice came over the intercom.

“Attention passengers. Sorry to inform you there’s been a delay…”

What? No. He couldn’t be serious. They didn’t have a copilot? We were going to be delayed—I’m sorry, how long?—over an hour and a half until they could find one? Was this not an airport? Couldn’t they just go into one of the airport restaurants and shout, “Hey, we need a copilot to San Antonio. Any takers?” And surely at least six copilots would raise their hands, right? 

No? Okay, then give me the headset. I’m a nurse. People’s lives have been in my hands before. Surely I have what it takes to copilot this flight. I can throw on the headset and point out which clouds to avoid. 

American Airlines did not share my confidence. We waited for the copilot. And the flight that should have taken an hour, took three. Which meant, you guessed it, no reception for this finalist. 

Sitting on a grounded plane for two hours gives you plenty of time to think. Why did I cut my flights so close? Why didn’t I plan better? Why didn’t I leave yesterday? Why did I think wearing Spanx was a good idea for traveling? Why haven’t I gone to the bathroom yet?

I texted my family and a few friends, needing encouragement. (Not so much about the bathroom, mostly about missing the reception.) And while all their responses certainly encouraged, it was my dad’s response that perhaps offered what I needed most. Perspective. 

“I think you should write about this,” he texted.

I settled back in my seat, some of the tension easing from my shoulders, as I remembered why I was going on this trip in the first place. It wasn’t to rub elbows with agents and editors. Or win any contests. Or make a name for myself. The reason I was going to this conference boiled down to the same reason I started writing.  

I love a good story. 

And let’s face it—have you ever read a good story that doesn’t have conflict? Disappointment? Setbacks? I doubt it. Those types of stories might be out there, but they’re not called good. They’re called boring. We want stories that challenge and surprise us. That take us on journeys far better than anything we could have imagined.   

God certainly took me on a journey that weekend far better than anything I could have imagined. But it wasn’t until later I realized how important sitting on an airplane to nowhere for two hours was to the journey.    

Sure, it would have been easier if everything had gone according to plan. If I had arrived in plenty of time. Made it to the reception. Shook hands with all the agents and editors. Exuded the sort of confidence that only a pair of Spanx can provide.

But easy doesn’t always make for good. Or powerful. Or interesting. It just makes for easy. And easy doesn’t prepare you for hard. 

Sometimes you need to stay stuck on a seat in a plane those few extra hours, building your trust in God, so that in a few days when he asks you to get out of your seat and step onto a stage at an awards ceremony, you’re able to do it. 

Thanks for reading. If you’re interested in a few more stories from the conference—like how I rode the escalator up and down a dozen times as the introvert and extrovert inside of me battled out where I should go—or the steps I’m currently taking in my writing journey, sign up for my newsletter. You won’t be sorry.

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