The Return to America

It is hard to believe where I was 6 months ago and where God has brought me in that time. In my last blog post I was still in England, and was looking forward to Christmas, let me catch you up from there.

I spent Christmas with the Howsons, and their extended family that came in for Christmas. We all went to church together on Christmas morning. While Americans like our Christmas Eve services, the British head out Christmas morning. We walked to church in Harby, and I finally saw the inside of that Anglican church. The service was unique. A small sermon was spoken, and we sang many songs. There was a leaflet with the songs written on them. While we didn't sing all of these, the leaflet was their Christmas hymnbook, and it wasn't always that Christmas-y or even Christian. Some songs included were: "Jingle, Bells", "In the Bleak Midwinter", "Christ The Lord Is Risen Today", "Good King Wenceslas, "Here We Come A-wassailing", "Lord of the Dance", The Twelve Days of Christmas", and "We Wish You A Merry Christmas". While I know and enjoy many of these songs, none are exceptionally appropriate for the service. We did of course sing "I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day", you can't avoid that one.

As I am writing this 6 months after Christmas, it is somewhat difficult to remember all that happened, however I do want to highlight how generous, thoughtful, and kind my British family was to me. I received a set of shakers (English Bulldogs with the British flag on their backs, very cute and appropriate), blue football socks (Everton colors), two Everton toothbrushes (lovely, thanks Lois), and a fantastic onsie. All in all, I made out well from my British family as I view them now. I have parents, siblings, grandparents, cousins, and cousins' children who I count as two nieces. God has blessed me with families everywhere I go, and Britain was no exception.

My departure was hard, the evening flew by the night I was to leave by train for London. I can remember how the cold bit through my pea coat that night waiting on the platform and my heart pounding realising this would be the last time I would stand in Grantham. It was difficult, and the night was just beginning. My travel to Heathrow was fairly uneventful, but I arrived so late that security and check-in had closed and I was forced to spend the night out in the main concourse and lobby. I could find a comfortable position and my brain wouldn't focus on reading anything. Those wee morning hours were incredibly painful, I thought a lot about how I was leaving may never return.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the airline check-in opened and I finally got 2/3 boarding passes for my travels. Yes, 2/3, my final ticket from O'Hare to Memphis wouldn't print, the attendant said this was common with the big international airlines now sharing flights but coding them differently, she was with British Airways, and the last ticket was American Eagle/American Airlines. How she got my second ticket (Iberia Airlines), I have no idea, but I was so thankful. As we took off from London, my head dropped, and I think I may have drooled on the woman beside me... I was tired and unable to control any body movement or function.

I eventually came to when they served breakfast (I love international flights, complimentary food). I pinched myself to wake myself up enough to eat, then look out the window at the Spanish scenery. For the first time, I actually chatted with the person next to me. First, I apologised for my drooling, snoring, whatever may have occurred while I was dead to the world. We began to chat, and I learned a little about her life, a single woman in her late 40s from Buckinghamshire (west of London). She was on her way to hike in the mountains of Argentina. The trip was a gift from her father. We talked a little of religion as she was curious as to why I was in the UK and for so long. While no spiritual flames were light, nor even sparks, I pray that as she hiked those mountains the Lord would speak to her, and that she would see the emptiness she was already feeling as something only Christ could fill and heal. We landed in Madrid, we parted ways amiably and I then proceeded to get my final boarding ticket to Memphis, another adventure in a foreign land, with a Spanish-speaking attendant for American Airlines.

My Iberia Airlines flight was really nice, I had a window seat beside a younger man (late teens/early 20s), we never talked (except for when I needed the loo), which was saddening after my last flight but it showed me how other perceive my generation. We can be so absorbed in our own little bubbles we often miss the people, places, and happenings that are right beside us.

O'Hare was one of the most frustrating layovers I've experienced (besides the insomnia of Heathrow). After getting through customs, with just a few minutes to spare, I discover that I have to go back through general security to get to my connecting flight... Excuse me? I just went through customs, I shouldn't have to take off the belt, exterior clothing, shoes, etc. all over again! I only had about 20 minutes til my flight was to depart at that! My face was red with frustration and anger over that.

Thankfully, I made it. I was on the flight to Memphis, then we landed, I stepped back into the Memphis Airport on December 30, 2013 through the exact same gate I had departed out of on September 10, 2013. Though a wheel had broken off my big suitcase between Chicago and Memphis, my things and I were safe. I thought as I was eating dinner with some wonderful friends: Chris, Sara Grace, Haley, and Joe how calm life would become. How wrong I was.

I would like for you to continue reading this saga as it continues in my next post, "A Taste of 'The Good Life' & the Blessings of God"