Sandy Relief Revisit | Whose Call Was It Anyway

I’m home.  Well, technically I’ve been home now for over a week.  Just been flying under the radar a bit.  But it’s worth mentioning, because I almost wasn’t – home, that is.  And by “wasn’t” I mean on time, not that we almost crashed.

We had barely left the gate in N.Y. when the pilot slammed on the brakes.  The passengers lurched forward.

  The fully loaded plane came to a halt.  We joked with one team member who is less than thrilled with flying:  “Must of popped the clutch and stalled it.”  She laughed on the outside.  Her confidence in the pilot diminished. 

Silence from the cockpit.  A curious stir rose about the cabin.  The stewardess offered some form of verbal concession.  Several minutes faded off the clock.  Finally an announcement:  Thunderstorms in the flight path.  We would need to return to the gate and wait for coordinates to reroute.  Same destination, Washington/Dulles Int’l Airport, long way around.  The catch, however, was we would need more fuel and less people on board.  Surely they wouldn’t break up a group traveling together…but I suppose they could ask the whole lot of us to disembark.  They didn’t.  They took singles and couples who volunteered.  Phew.  Now to get into the air. 

Our team looked forward to an hour and a half layover in D.C.  A few moments to stop and eat an overpriced airport dinner, grab a souvenir cup or magnet, and continue to our connecting gate.  But that layover faded fast the longer we waited around in N.Y.  We all watched the clock and prayed.  The stewardess ran down the list of options.  The first and best one was we make our connection and get home on time.  That proved to be the last one though, as our layover in D.C. was spent in N.Y. instead. 

Finally we got into the air.  The flight time would put us on the ground in D.C. about 10 minutes before our connecting flight was scheduled to leave.  Would they wait for us?  Has a plane ever waited for a group of 16 travelers?  The answer would depend on how quickly we maneuvered the airport between gates A2 (arrival gate) and D29 (departure gate).  Failure to get there meant staying the night in D.C.  Another of the stewardess’ options, but down the list a ways of preferences for most of us traveling. 

We landed in D.C. at 5:16.  Our connection left at 5:26.  I grabbed another guy from our team and clawed my way to the front of the plane to be the first one off.  Obviously our connection was more important than anyone else’s on the plane.  I’m ashamed of that now. 

We disembarked onto the tarmac.  The gate attendant was less than helpful. 

Me:  “We are late arriving.  We are connecting to flight 326 at gate D29.  Is it waiting?”

Him:  “You’ll have to go to the customer service desk…inside the terminal and to the left.” 

Me:  “What if we miss the connection?  What will happen to our luggage?”

Him:  “You’ll have to go to the customer service desk…inside the terminal and to the left.” 

Got the message.  To the customer service desk then. 

Half the team was off the plane by now.  They followed me into the terminal.  It wasn’t hard to find the customer service desk.  It was tucked behind the mile long line of customers needing service.  By now it was 5:30.  The flight board inside the terminal indicated our connecting flight was closed.  A couple of us got in line with the rest of the United Airlines passengers affected by the thunderstorm re-routes.  Several others started calling home. 

Conversations were tense.  Staying the night in D.C. meant missing Mother’s Day morning.  Countless prayers began to settle in before the throne of God Almighty; gathering up light but thick, the way that cottony stuff from cottonwood trees floats on the breeze and gathers up at the edge of the lawn or a bedded area this time of year (in the Northwest anyway). 

The line had moved about 15 feet.  It was close to 6:00.  We’d begun making friends with the guy in front of us.  The guy behind us was coughing uncontrollably.  “Not my best day,” was his response to our inquiry of wellbeing.  The stewardess passed us and smiled one of those “I’m so sorry” smiles and wished us good luck.  Ironically though, luck would have nothing to do with what happened next. 

We’d resigned ourselves to staying the night in D.C.  A few were looking forward to it.  One guy from the team was looking up rental rates for vans.  He was ready to give us a tour of the sites.  Another guy was thinking baseball game.  I ran through directions in my head on where the kids would find their gift for Mommy to give her in the morning.  I glanced over at the team, most of who were ordering burgers at Five Guys and laughing together.  What a team, as flexible as they come in the face of overturned expectations.  I whispered up a prayer.  Not sure what for.  I think I said thanks though.  It settled in on top of so many other prayers.

Just then, a muffled announcement about a Seattle flight and gate D29.  We had another 20 feet or so to go before we even entered the roped maze that leads to the service desk.  I pulled out of line and cut to the front.  I’m less ashamed of that move than I am of the one on the plane.  The customer service lady must have seen me diving toward her.  “Can you repeat…”  She didn’t give me time to finish.  She said that flight 326, connection to Seattle was waiting at gate D29 and we should proceed there immediately.  You think?!

I looked at my phone.  6:04pm.  Still waiting…after almost 40 minutes.  We wasted no time.  I hollered to everyone in Five Guys to follow me:  “Our plane is waiting for us at D29.  We gotta go now!”  The startled strangers went back to eating.  Those who knew me followed. 

Escalator…escalator…stairs…long hallway…  I waited to count people.  We were all in pursuit.  Another escalator, then a connector train.  Sheesh, could these gates possibly be further apart?  (Apparently they could.  There was a gate D31.  We started at A2.)  As we stepped off the train, this announcement:  “This train is now out of service.”  You’re kidding me!  Last train to D gates!  Escalator…long hallway.  C gates came first.  Finally, C30…now D1.  The D gates felt more spaced out.  They should have booked us a connector flight between gates.

We arrived at D29…all of us.  We lost none along the way.  Praise the Lord.  Our joy overflowed.  But it was immediately met with bitterness.  Where we were thankful to make the flight, those who had been waiting on the plane for now nearly an hour were less than joyful.  How could we bless them all?  We thanked those we would spend the next 5 hours with profusely as we boarded the plane.  “So sorry.  They said it was closed.  Thank you for waiting.”  As though they had a choice.  If it were the passengers call, the flight would have been gone an hour ago.  Some smiled kindly.  Some smiled not so kindly.  Some didn’t smile at all. 

We left the gate close to 7:00.  Nearly an hour and a half late.  The flight was smooth.  Clear skies the whole way revealed America’s landscape coast to coast.  The plains, the hills, the mountains, the lakes, the rivers – all from 26,000 feet.  I marveled for much of the flight.  I wonder whose prayer was the last to settle in before God Almighty when that gal gave that announcement.  Or whose prayer was the last one as we made the final train to the D gates.  How many prayers did it take to hold this plane? 

We got into Seattle sooner than later.  The pilot made up time in the air.  Must have skipped the scenic route this time.  I watched us land from my window seat.  The city streets weren’t busy.  An ambulance raced to an emergency.  I thought about our race through the airport.  Street lights were popping on.  We’d chased the sun the whole way.  It won.  I savored every moment of God Almighty’s gracious gift of home.  I remembered Amy’s text to me in D.C.; a quoted reminder, “Home is the will of God.”  Lots could be said about that, but I’ll skip it. 

Disembarking in Seattle was a pure joy.  I was the last one off the plane this time.  The pilots were waiting in the terminal for the rest of their crew.  I thanked them for waiting for us.  They smiled an “Oh, that was you guys” smile and chuckled a bit.  I tried to explain what all had happened, that we didn’t know they were waiting for us.  It wasn’t an excuse as much as a bewildered overwhelm that they would wait as long as they did.  Again they smiled.  “It wasn’t our call to hold the plane,” one of them replied.  You’re right, I thought to myself as I headed toward baggage claim, It was God’s call.