“Thanks, Knife!” I’m kindly corrected, “Kinfe. My name is Kinfe” (kin-fee). “Oh, so sorry, Kinfe!” It’s 2 am. My eyes are tired. I’m either dyslexic or my mind is deferring to autocorrect. Fortunately for us, our Uber driver is in a good mood. “I guess a name like Knife would be bad for business” I joke. “Haha!”s are uttered all around. I tip him extra.
Here’s how it begins. The girls and I reunite at the airport we parted from in Leon. Great big hugs! Each of us tells exciting stories around the wonderful times we’ve had. Ahead, is a connection/layover in Dallas. We pass through customs before Scott greets us curbside. He and his wife reside in the DFW area. His flight was out of Aguas and arrived much earlier than ours. And even though he and I have been together the last few days, it’s been a minute since he’s seen the girls. Ever longer, Kinsey. He goes out of his way to make it happen.
In-N-Out Burger has a home in Texas. Since when I do not know. Possibly due to the droves moving over from Cali? Never dove deep into it—another first-time food experience for Kinsey. Glad that happened. Thank you, Scott!
We are due to touchdown in Peoria, IL around 10 pm. This is home. The weather is terrible. Turbulence is non-stop. Has been so the entire flight. How relieving it will be to get off this jet! Our town is now in sight. City lights shine brightly below. This is when things get ugly…
Angry winds slam violently against our plane. We move to descend but nature’s nasty hand slaps us down so fast. Enter now a series of free-falls. No parachutes included. People begin to scream. Our plane rocks side to side. We aim to maintain balance as the girls start to lose their stomachs in the white bags provided (“In-N-Out, just like they said.” -Holly Brooks). A lady to my left laughs crazily - caroling childish lullabies between cackles. I kid you not. And just when you think you’ve had enough, our plane suddenly bursts into ludicrous speed. More screams…
Are we ascending? Are we descending? We do not know. I look over at the girls and smile as if to say, ‘It’s going to be ok.’ This feels like forever. Could it be the end?
At last, things calm down. I ask our stewardess if she’d be kind enough to collect the girl’s emergency sacks. On her way back, some 15-20 hands outstretch to relieve themselves the same articles as ours. We are not alone.
“The good news is that we are out of the worst of the storm. The bad is that we are on our way to St Louis.” our pilot radios out. This wasn’t the best we wanted to hear, but we are certainly grateful to be alive.
We’ve never entered this airport till now. Few are present save our plane’s stirred, perhaps shaken passengers and a handful of staff. We linger single file, anxiously awaiting our next marching orders. It’s late. It’s taking a long time. A robotic recording, “Caution, the moving walkway is about to stop”, repeats loudly every couple of minutes. It’s hard to hear our instructions. “You’re all getting a free hotel room. Be back at the airport around…” they finally announce. We loiter still, eagerly waiting to reach the front of the line. Arrived! “We’ve run out of hotel rooms. Please wait while we try to find some more.” What a night.
Tick. Tick. Tick. It takes some time before an opening is eventually discovered. “They don’t have a shuttle though. You’ll have to get an Uber.” Fine. This is how we meet Kinfe. After booking our ride we realize something is awry. He’s arrived, only not at the site we’re standing. We don’t know where to go and they only allow a short window before motoring off without you. A bit of direction from an attendant and we make a B-line to our driver. “Thanks for waiting!”, Kinfe, Knife, whatever your name is.
Outside, our hotel presents itself as easily acceptable. Inside, is something of a haunted mansion. Ceiling tiles breach. Wires descending therefrom. Scattered buckets thieve floorspace, gathering consistent drops of rain. Plastic conspires atop doorways, provoking mystery over what lies beyond. Our clerk? He looms the classic character for a graveyard shift.
On the elevator, Holly hits the button for level 4. Nothing. She repeats. Same result. Bids rapid fire… Disturbed, with no desire to be stuck, I grumble for the third floor instead. She does so and we search for a set of stairs to complete our ascent. The hallway is dark. Every room is open with lights left on. The entire floor is under construction. We are the only souls present now. Eerie, is the scene in spades.
Three and a half to four hours is the max sleep we’ll receive before we’re back at it. Another Uber is necessary upon the airport return. And would we know our flight would be bumped back three more times we’d certainly choose to snooze it out. But we did not know.
I’ll be sick for two weeks when I return. On the back of that laughs an ear infection. Fortunately for us, this was a brief stint. I’ve certainly suffered longer.
In general, we are not privy to the matter of time before things get good again. There are no dials to visualize. Nor clocks counting us down. No predetermined amount of reps to rip out before we finally rest. The invitation to lose hope, to quit, can be daunting. Even colorful at times. How do we hold up during such events? Physically? Mentally? Emotionally? I find myself winning some. Losing others. Always pressing forward. Oftentimes, unappreciative of the moments. Madly in love with this journey overall. Ultimately, searching for ways to keep hope alive in the here and now. ‘til Jesus comes down.