Part 2: En Route

When the intercom announced that it was time to board our flight, we couldn't have been more relieved to be on our way, and the process of boarding the plane provided even more amusing people-watching moments to keep us entertained.

Like the guy stowing his carry-on in the compartment directly above us, completely unaware that his zipper, which was directly at our eye-level, was all the way down. I had turned to say something to Jeremy and instantly and uncontrollably made a "Whoa.....yikes!" face and turned away. But as I turned away, I realized the guy had seen my expression and was looking at me like, "What?" Then he glanced down, and I was relieved, thinking he had identified the problem...until he proceeded to reach back up, without addressing the zipper, and continue adjusting his bag.

And of course, there was the always entertaining dance-of-the-giant-carry-on. It goes something like this....

A lady stops in the aisle in front of the first open compartment and attempts to shove in an overstuffed carry-on. It clearly won't fit, by a mile, but she continues pushing and shoving anyway. People are lining up behind her, but she is undaunted. She lowers the bag and rotates it 90 degrees, seemingly convinced that this rotation will magically make the bag six inches thinner.

At this point, a flight attendant politely suggests that the passenger allow her to check the bag and stow it for her in the cargo area, but the passenger continues on, undeterred. She lowers the bag yet again, this time attempting to put it in wheels-first. Because, once again, this is a magic maneuver that makes the bag smaller. Push, shove, lower, rotate. Push, shove, lower, rotate.

Again, the flight attendant suggests checking the bag. This time more insistently. The insistence of the flight attendant prompts the woman to realize that perhaps it would be wise to remove something from the bulging suitcase. So she lowers it, balances it on the back of the nearest seat, unzips it, and removes exactly one item before attempting, once again, to shove the bag into the overhead compartment.

The poor flight attendant is now using an ever-so-polite voice through clenched teeth to say, "Ma'am, really. It is no problem to check the bag. But we must clear the aisle at this time." The other passengers, who have no obligation to be nice, have murderous looks in their eyes. So the lady lowers her bag yet again and removes 8 more items, passing them over 4 rows of seats to her daughter who will apparently hold them in her lap for the entire 5 hour flight. She then triumphantly squeezes her bag into the compartment and proceeds compliantly to her seat.

And the whole plane erupts in cheers.

Not really.

But I know everyone, including the carry-on, breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

After every bag was finally stowed and every passenger seated, and after a forty minute delay for a minor repair in the cockpit, and another 15 minutes of waiting for our turn to take off while the cabin filled with the smell of exhaust, we finally lifted off and headed for Guatemala!

The night passed uneventfully, with the exception of the air vent near my feet which blew frigid air throughout the flight, making me regret my oh-so-smart decision to wear flip flops so as to save forty-seven seconds of shoe tying in airport security. Two hours of semi-comfortable sleep successfully exchanged for forty-seven seconds of not tying shoes. Well done, Kristy. Well done.

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During the last hour of our flight, the sun began to light up the sky enough for us to see a beautiful lightning storm in the clouds far below us. As I watched the lightning and the sun rising through the clouds, I was filled with an incredible awareness of God's goodness and providence and sovereignty. It was at that moment that the weight of two years of struggle began to dissolve away.

Steven Curtis Chapman sings a song about adoption, and there's a line in the song that says:

Like the rain that falls into the sea, in a moment what has been is lost in what will be....

The sunrise that morning was my moment.

As our plane descended over Guatemala city, I knew I was looking at the place where my son was born. I wondered where, in all the tiny buildings below, he lived the first six years of his life. I wondered about the people who were part of that life, where they are now, and whether anyone ever wonders about him. I wondered what he might have looked like as a baby and who he smiled at the first time he smiled, and who was there when he learned to walk. I wondered whether there was someone who held him when he cried or kissed him when he got hurt.

And I wished with all that is in me that I could have been there. That I could have studied his newborn face and coaxed out his first smiles and let him hold my fingers while he learned how to walk. That I could know with certainty that he was loved and snuggled and kissed and hugged and rejoiced over.

But God, in His grace, gifted me with a storm and a sunrise to remind me that the rain of Israel's past and of our long struggle to adopt him are just drops in the sea of God's plans for our future.

As a family.

And before I knew it, we were on the ground in Guatemala.