I have this weird love/hate relationship with airports, like most of do, I bet.
I LOVE going to the airport. Whether it’s to pick someone up, drop someone off, arriving or departing myself, there’s something about it that gives me a rush. I think it’s because there’s always a sense of adventure involved and stories to be told, whether you’re going to a foreign land or the most familiar place you’ve ever known. (That’s probably so easy for me to say because I don’t fly constantly like so many people do with work. And when I have, it was really fun!)
I remember one night my dad and I went with our cousin Craig to Midway in Chicago to pick up one of my cousins. As we were waiting, we were just standing there people-watching. We saw people light up when they saw their loved one walking up the ramp. We saw people embrace for the longest time and say good-bye – for who knows how long. I also distinctly remember a young woman wearing a bright red formal party dress, totally decked out for some dude she was picking up. Anyway, I remember us discussing how all of these hundreds of people we indirectly crossed paths with that night each had a story and how God knows their stories and the number of hairs on their heads.
That’s another thing I love about flying and having a window seat. I get a fresh perspective on life and the world and just feel peaceful. God uses the aerial view reminds me that the world does not revolve around me and how I make mountains out of molehill problems sometimes. He’s got it all under control. He knows and cares for all of the people in the little houses and huge skyscrapers. Everything’s so little compared to the big picture.
So, you got my drift: airports and flying are usually fun for me. BUT…
I’m sure you’ve experienced a flight delay or cancellation or some other ridiculousness in your travels. My latest story regarding this happened this weekend, though I didn’t fly. I was planning on picking up my roommates in Nashville at 5:30pm… then 10:30… then midnight (trip #1 to the airport)…
“Hey! Are yall here? I’m excited to see you!” I said, sitting at the gate at midnight.
“Uh, we’re still on the runway in Chicago, and now our plane’s turning around because something’s wrong with it.” Fabulous. (I assumed it was probably the “falangie” on the plane.)
Then I got a call at 3:30am and picked them up at 4am (trip #2 of the evening… er, morning). That was definitely a first for me. But one cool thing about that was I didn’t see a single car in the northbound lane on the interstate until I approached the airport.
My friend Renee thought she had cracked the code. She had discovered a way to get around those college campus “parking ticket Nazis” and park wherever she wanted to at any time of day.
