Travel Mercies

“The quality of mercy is not strain'd. Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.” —William Shakespeare

“Traveling mercies” are prayers for safe and smooth travel. From a time in the late nineteenth century when travel was more dangerous…” —ConnectUS

If ever there is a time when I feel in need of travel mercies, it’s when I have to maneuver through foreign airports and trust my life to a flying machine and a driver I don’t know - or an auto-pilot. It’s also one of the things I pray for most for others, fair weather or foul, by land, sea, or air. The news is full of accidents. I was struck by a car at a crosswalk when I was in kindergarten. My car was hit on a patch of black ice with my children in the backseat. I was cut off by a reckless driver speeding on the highway and, when I hit my brakes, my van did a 360 across three lanes of traffic. The car behind me in that lane stopped within six inches of the rear passenger door next to my sleeping daughter. My brother was a passenger in a car that drove into a telephone pole. My father rolled his car off a highway. My daughter-in-law’s aunt and uncle were killed by a drunk driver after his after-work “happy hour.” They were en route to her wedding to my son. And that’s just on land. Because of this, I’m a bit of a white-knuckle driver - and a backseat one. I’ve had some pretty bumpy flights as well, and many delays in airport hell. While it’s important to make wise choices and stick with reputable drivers, tour companies, and airlines - it always requires some level of surrender. For me, praying for travel mercies helps with that.

At first, it didn’t seem like my prayer had been heard let alone answered. Just as I’d arrived to a torrent of rain to walk the Camino, I was leaving in one. My flight out of Santiago de Compostella was late, one I’d rescheduled at a significant cost. When I arrived in Frankfurt, it was chaos. Prior to the EU border management changes coming into effect, Canadians were processed along with people from the UK in an expedited fashion. At least on routes I’d taken. However, since then we’ve been thrown into the queue with everyone else in the world but EU members - one that wasn’t cordoned off in a first-come-first-served manner. Frankfurt Airport departure areas were a Murphy’s Law free-for-all. After waiting in one swelling queue, the gatekeeper up and left his position, snack in hand, without a replacement to take over or give directions. The people in my queue would merge into an existing line on either side, unwelcomed, to grumbling and resistance. That happened not once, but twice!

There was so much budging I nearly lost it. I was a retired career Kindergarten teacher - Ms. Sugar to my kindies and their parents - and lining up politely was one of the first routines my students learned to be well-mannered about. The consequence for budging was a kind but swift rerouting to the back of the line. On this trip, there was so much jockeying that someone bumped the neck pillow off my carry-on handle - unnoticed. It had been a last-minute loaner from a friend when I’d left Canada to save me the cost of buying one. We all watched in frustration as our departure times approached. There were families in tears over soon-to-be-missed flights. Likewise for a young teenage girl traveling alone. The handicapped lane was empty and the clerk was filing his nails instead of picking up the slack. He shooed away anyone asking for information or support. Finally, I pulled the Pulmicort out of my purse and went to him. “I’m going to be late and can’t run to the gate because of my asthma.” The sea parted. I only wish I could have taken the girl with me.

While waiting in the bedlam, I found out that there was a direct flight to Vancouver leaving about the same time as my flight home via Montreal. It would save me several hours at the airport as well as about seven hours in the air. Just knowing that set off fireworks in my stomach. If only I could change my ticket. In that moment, all I wanted was to be home with my family, to see my brother alive, to be free from the guilt I’d carried over leaving him - however misplaced. I rushed to customer service and pled with them to change my flight. This intense feeling of urgency pressed on my heart. Because my luggage had already been checked through, they wouldn’t allow it. I explained that my luggage wouldn’t likely make in on the flight to Montreal either - which it didn’t - but they wouldn’t help. I started to cry. I told them about my brother and this feeling I had that I might not make it home on time. That I’d likely miss the other flight. The tears were unstoppable. It was like time was suspended for a moment as I saw myself caught in a spin cycle, draining me dry. My name was being called on the overhead speaker. Last call. They could do nothing to help but alert the boarding agent and ask them to hold the door. I thanked them and wiped my tears as best I could, but they kept falling as I struggled toward the gate. When I arrived, the clerk quickly ushered me through. The flight attendant took over, mistaking my tears for embarrassment for delaying them. She was so incredibly compassionate as she handed me a Kleenex. She took charge of my carry-on and then led me to a cubicle in First Class. Tears of powerlessness shifted into tears of wonderment and gratitude. I didn’t feel I deserved it, much like many answered prayers.

The photos are borrowed from a Swiss Air site because I didn’t have the presence of mind to either take a selfie or have my angle take a photograph.

From champagne to salmon mouse and decadent dessert - with seconds - and a seat that converted to a pull-out that I could stretch out on to sleep. It was the best flight of my life! When I was served the exquisite meal, I thought of Christine and the humble fare we’d shared. How we’d both needed compassion, each in our own way. I teared up again and the flight attendant asked if I was okay. I wiped my eyes and nodded. “I’m Christine.” She looked confused. I smiled and added “And Jes. It’s a long story.” As Shakespeare had said, the quality of mercy was indeed not strained. I only hope that Christine was twice blessed also, by taking, but mostly because she gifted me a lesson that I’m still unpacking.

Although there was more airport chaos in Montreal with delayed flights that made me miss my connection from Vancouver to Victoria. I was well rested and fed and could handle the disappointment. My gut had been right. I got home to the news that my brother was indeed back in the hospital, but also to the relief that he was finally accepting the need for a life-saving leg amputation. He would have ten more months though - full of struggles - but with that, time to accept his fate and prepare for his own inevitable departure.

Have you ever come undone in a place as public as an airport?

Have you ever had your kindness to one person returned by another, and in a manner that feels connected, in a far greater form?

Have you ever taken the time to listen to a stranger even when you doubted their story?

Sometimes I feel that God, Creator, whatever name or form we surrender to in faith, listens to our hearts as well as to the words we spin to feel heard. This time, in particular, I received far more generosity than I felt I deserved. May your calls to action be blessed like that.

Ultreia! Forward, together.