On Pilgrimage in my Kitchen

It's 4:45am on a Thursday morning.  I'm sitting on the floor in my kitchen next to an overstuffed backpack, drinking coffee from a styrofoam cup which was intended for the ride to the airport for a 5:04am departure to Mexico City by way of Dallas.

My well-traveled husband realized, as we were stumbling around getting ready, that we hadn't received a check-in email from the airline.

Our flight was cancelled.  Chalk it up to inexperience, but this possibility never occurred to me.  I was struck by the irony of all of the emails I get that I don't need or want as I combed through my Spam folder, looking for some sign or attempt by someone to communicate this critically-important-information.  Nothing.

Whenever all of this non-communicating was going on, they also did us the favor of putting us on another flight eight hours from now, which puts us at our destination six hours after the rest of our group arrives and certainly after the first scheduled stops on our pilgrimage to visit Our Lady of Guadalupe.

Driving 3.5 hours to catch our connecting flight was of interest to me, but my husband was leaning hard in the other direction, so I prayed and said nothing.  He checked the weather, which indicated an imminent line of thunderstorms.  We rushed out to get the suitcases out of the back of the truck.  It was already raining.  This sealed my decision, as I was already having some angst about leaving my boys nestled in their beds.

Plan B officially began, and I was at peace (and feeling victorious about being so flexible.  Sigh.).

Until.  Until, my husband told me we wouldn't be sitting together on our flight to Mexico.  We had window seats on different aisles.  Tears streamed down my face with a confidence that implied a permission and blessing they didn't have.

I don't know if sitting next to your spouse on an airplane is a big deal for most people.  But, it is for me.  I haven't flown a lot, and I've only flown twice with my husband in 16 years.  And the last time was a disaster.  I was hoping this time might overshadow the last time completely.

Last week, I listened to an audio recording af a pilgrimage prep session the rest of our group attended and recorded for those of us who couldn't be there.  One of the things that stood out was a reminder that this was a pilgrimage and not a vacation.  Things were going to go wrong, and maybe a lot of them.

Some spiritual people attribute this to spiritual warfare, knowing the enemy can use all of the little details of life to confuse and detract from what is bigger and truer and more important.

Others attribute this to superstition, Murphy's Law. or just plain absurdity.  I vascillate between all of these. 

Although I can't be sure why, I am sure that weird little things happened as I was getting ready for this trip.  Beyond the flight cancellation and change of plans, Wells Fargo decided to take a nap during the 10 minutes I tried to pay bills late the night before.  The only option for paying my mortgage was to put the entire amount of my mortgage in an "additional principal" box, which would have doubled my payment.  And I couldn't find even two matching pieces of linen when I tried to remake our bed for my sister-in-law.  The fitted sheet is different than the flat sheet, which is different from one pillowcase, which is different from the other pillowcase.  How stupid.  Especially, when you have matching sets for all of them.  Somewhere.

None of this is a big deal, of course.  But, when weird things stack up when you're pressed for time, you're getting ready to make a spiritual leap and it feels big, it makes me wonder if something's up. 

So, my resolve to give my "Fiat" in every circumstance and accept everything as if from the Lord himself, has already been properly exercised and is plenty warm.  And, I haven't even left my kitchen.

But, one thing is for certain.  God is good and the dog is very happy with Plan B.