There was a time when I cringed at the thought of getting on a plane by myself. My stomach would twist and I would imagine missing a flight, leaving on the wrong plane, or getting lost in the airport.
After two moves and family in other states, flying by myself is becoming less scary.
Waking up at 3 in the morning to get to a 6:15 flight so I can spend more of the day with family puts me in a good mood. Also, it reminds me of how much I enjoy waking up before the sun rises.
While I thoroughly enjoy flights with my husband, flights by myself are becoming special. They give me time to open up new books, to see land below fluffy clouds, and to be in awe of creation without any distractions.
At some point during the flight my mind often turns to the people around me. I begin to pray for the mamas with little ones, the lady who grips the armrest every bump, and the flight attendants who are ignored during the safety briefings.
Flights have become a time when I am forced to sit beside someone I don’t know and be pleasant. Sometimes they engage me in conversation, other times they like to be alone. I’m not one to push a conversation, but instead I pray for them and find myself worrying less about all the if-then scenarios.
Today was another boost toward thanksgiving, amazement, and prayer despite fears and worries about what may or may not happen.