On the Plane

Third and final leg of the journey to Yaounde. A friendly Belgian flight attendant is about to offer me a choice of beverages. It’s mid-morning along this north-south stretch of Greenwich Mean Time, but it’s five-thirty in the morning to the Magruders.

I caught maybe two hours of sleep on the transatlantic flight; the kids also got a couple of hours. Leah didn’t sleep at all, and so is trying to nap this entire leg.

By this point in the trip, I consider it a miracle if we get there without entirely breaking down. The airport transitions have been mostly smooth. Thank goodness, there have been no delays, no missed flights, no problems with passports.

I still have this bad habit of not relaxing on airplanes. I really have a fear of flying, I guess. Too bad, because I’ve flown a lot in my life, and I have a lot more flying to do still.

I always think of John Wesley when I get scared on flights. He had the same kind of experience on the trip to and from America. I kinda envy those cool-as-a-cucumber Moravians, too.

Every time I get on a plane these days, I pray for peace. But my stomach doesn’t act like it. At this moment, it’s still rolling and tossing. Which reminds me of what Rachel said at the breakfast table before we left for the airport. She looked at me and said, “It’s kind of hard to get cereal down when your stomach is all tied in knots!”

My stomach won’t disentangle until we’re in the apartment, I suppose. There’s still so much to worry about … passing through the visa desk in Yaounde, picking up all ten over-loaded bags, driving through town in two vehicles, and unloading everything. On top of all that, we’re gonna meet our new “parents,” Bill and Grace.

It’s kinda hard to be deep and spiritual during these kinds of frantic and chaotic transition times. We’re just trying to survive!