What Was I Thinking?

I should have known. Flying these days is an exercise in frustration, even without the threat of snow. Chicago waved us off, and we deflected to Detroit to refuel and sit grounded for an hour while the storms passed and the airways cleared. Fortunately, the good Lord and Southwest airlines were watching over me and in Detroit they replaned me on a direct flight to St Paul. I might still make my shuttle to the college. It will be close though.

Other passengers are reciting their litany of woes, of circling endlessly, of missing connections. I am tense, but relieved that I don't have to worry about the connection part. I call the shuttle service to fill them in. They assure me there is a later shuttle if I miss the 7 pm one. OK. Relax. We end up taking the long way around to avoid turbulence, and at long long last we land where I was supposed to, and only a few hours late. Amazingly, still in time for the original shuttle!

We cram into the half bus, our luggage squeezed in by our feet, squished like sardines, clutching our little bottles of water that the shuttle service offered and for which I am most grateful. The trip to the college is bumpy and I am at the rear of the bus, tossed about like a rag doll. My stomach is queasy, I have had no supper and little lunch, I am tired beyond endurance. It takes nearly an hour to get to the campus.

Everyone else is chattering excitedly, those who have attended this conference before filling in those of us who have not been. Suddenly, I am overwhelmed. I do not want to get to know these people, as nice as they may be. What is the point of making friends with someone you will never see again? It takes so much energy and investment of self. I am tired of telling my story to strangers. The sky is storm cloud dark, the bumping intolerable.

What am I doing here? What was I thinking? I am too old for this. I should be home in my safe little bed, petting Sugar and learning to be content with the education I have. I must have been crazy to think that I should travel halfway across the continent to some place I don't know to spend time with people whose lives are so different from mine. God, what in the world am I doing??

Checking in at the dorm brought no comfort either. It is, after all, a dormitory. There are no comforts of home here. The sheets are stiff and worn, the towels skinny and harsh, the room barren and humid. I turn on the air conditioner unit and a musty smell hits my face. I open the window and the mosquitoes buzz loudly. There will be no dinner tonight. Nothing on campus is open and we are in the middle of no place.

I sigh, glad for the breakfast biscuits I thought to pack. It is all I can do to locate a vending machine and wrestle a bottle of cold clear water from its mechanical arms. I want to retire, but on my way back to my empty room, another attendee strikes a conversation with me, and I ask where we register in the morning. She kindly takes me on a whirlwind tour of the campus in the dark, pointing in various directions and going on about the different buildings. I regret asking. I just want to collapse.

Not a judicious start to what looms before me as a long and daunting week. One small crack of light seeps into my brain just before I sink into the welcome oblivion of sleep. God did open the doors for me to be here. I am sure He would not send my on a whim. There is a reason for all of this, and if I will just patiently trust, it will become clear at some point.

And I am not alone. His presence is with me as it always is. I have read my Divine Hours meditation - Vespers and Compline. The Psalms bring me comfort and remind me that I have many blessings to count. A safe flight, even if longer than planned. A roof over my head and occupancy in the one dorm that has air conditioning. A meal plan for the rest of the week. Engagement with others who love sacred music. An opportunity to meet a conductor who does sacred music well.

I snuggle down into my pillow, remind myself of the full week of R&R I have just enjoyed, and tell myself that things will look better in the morning. After all, I am still a bit worn from last summer's journey through chemo land. But just look how far I have come. And with that, I smile, and turn out the light humming the Doxology. All will be well.