Talking to Strangers (and Other Travel Mercies)
Maine is beautiful in summer. The blooming purple lupines and 60 degree weather make a lovely respite for someone trying to escape poison ivy and southern heat/humidity. This summer, to save time, I flew with my daughter to visit my mom Downeast instead of making the six day drive with the whole family. (After all, gas prices are nuts right now!) But while Maine can be a perfect place to relax, getting to and from the pine tree state proved to be more stressful than I’d anticipated.
Our first flight from Chattanooga had three stops: Atlanta to Boston to Bangor. While some people might bemoan longer layovers, I actually felt relieved. I hate the heart-pounding sprint toward a soon-to-be-departing flight. The long layovers would provide welcome margin to explore the different airports and have plenty of time to eat meals with my daughter. I looked forward to taking my time and enjoying the travel experience.
But there’s a big difference between a long layover and a cancellation.
Now, I’m not what you’d call a frequent flyer, but I have flown domestically on occasion and internationally to Germany, China, and England. I have NEVER had a flight cancelled and wasn’t sure how to proceed when I saw the big red text on the screen next to my flight number. Enter Stranger #1: a poor woman who’d been stuck in Boston for three days after several delays and flight cancellations. She did not exactly inspire confidence in the airline industry, but she was kind, directed us to speak to an airline agent, and said she’d pray for us.
I called my husband in the ticketing line only to get more bad news. Not only was my flight for the evening cancelled, but there were no outgoing flights to Bangor, Maine for the next 48 hours. For a vacation lasting less than a week, this delay seemed unacceptable. My mother was already waiting for us in a Bangor hotel. She was supposed to pick us up and drive another few hours to her home on the coast.
FORTUNATELY, Boston is about a 3 hour drive to Bangor.
UNFORTUNATELY, Boston is about a 3 hour drive to Bangor.
At this point, I’d already been traveling all day, and it was getting dark. For context, I do not enjoy driving even in the best of circumstances. Although I’d aced the written part of my driving test, it took me three tries to get my license. The first time I failed, I’d hit a cone while parallel parking. The second time I failed, I’d hopped a curb after the three-point turn. I very nearly fell asleep at the wheel during my hour with the driving instructor, and I’m the only person I know who’s been in three car accidents —all while being either parked or stopped.
Driving is not my superpower.
Although I don’t think it quite made our wedding vows, Jason and I had reached an amicable commuting policy early in marriage: he gets to do the driving, and I get to order the food at rest stops. This arrangement works great — especially on trips over an hour long. But my husband was back in Tennessee, and I knew I needed to be the responsible adult since my daughter is too young to drive. Secretly, I doubted I could to power through an unplanned, husband-less car trip.
Enter Strangers #2 and #3. These were two women I started chatting with on the airport shuttle en route to the Boston car rentals. They, too, were trying to get to Bangor that night. And as my car rental was supposed to get reimbursed by the airline, it seemed silly not to offer my two extra seats in the back to them. Now, ordinarily I’d probably say it’s not a very smart thing to get into a car with strangers. But both these women had just passed through airport security without any weapons, and I was pretty sure I could beat either of them in an arm-wrestling contest. Besides, one was trying reach her missionary daughter who was due to have a baby, so I felt at home with this woman in more ways than one.
So off we went on the impromptu road trip. First stop: downtown Boston for some sustenance. One thing I like less than driving in general is driving downtown in a city — especially at night. It was around 9:30pm at this point, but God mercifully provided a parking spot near the restaurant, and there weren’t many people on the roads. Our 3 hour adventure began …
… then turned into a 4 hour adventure when I realized we did not have enough gas to get to Bangor. This led us on a wild goose chase of sorts as we pulled into station one to fill our car: “PUMPS STOPPED.” We tried another station: “PUMPS STOPPED.” We tried a third station: “PUMPS STOPPED.”
At this point, it was almost midnight, and we did not have a plan C to reach Bangor. I think we all were praying now. That’s when we met Stranger #4. This man was actually filling the underground gas tanks at station # 3. He directed us to a 24hr service station just up the road. Hallelujah! Not only were we able to get gas, use the restroom, and purchase some welcome caffeinated beverages and snacks, but I was SO grateful to have a relief driver. (She’d taken over at an earlier gas station.) I truly doubt I would have been able to make the trip safely without her.
After dropping off our fellow passengers, we arrived at our Bangor hotel at 2:38 in the morning, exhausted but alive and thankful to be where we were supposed to be. My mother drove us the rest of the way the next morning, and I was grateful to once again be a passenger myself. We spent a lovely few days with my mom, and enjoyed seeing the first whale of the whale watching season and eating local scallops and mackerel.
All too quickly, it was time to fly home again.
After such a complicated trip to Maine, I felt apprehensive about making the return journey. But we boarded our Bangor plane to Newark without incident. All went well as we coasted on the tarmac, until I noticed the plane’s engines seemed to be winding down instead of up. What was wrong? The verdict: 45 minute delay. Which — thanks to our long layovers — didn’t inconvenience us, though many others missed their connecting flights.
We made it to Newark, but I felt nervous about the next flight to Washington D.C. We only had about 25 minutes from landing to board our final flight to Nashville where my family was waiting for us in a hotel. A 45 minute delay at this juncture would equal a night in the airport and more logistical headaches. I could (and WOULD) not drive from D.C. to Tennessee and kept checking to verify our flight was on time. I think I felt far more anxious on the ground than most people do in the air and reached out to my praying friends for their intercession. I did not want any more logistical headaches.
Once again, God was merciful. Not only did our flight arrive on time, but it also arrived at the correct gate! We literally got off the plane, turned around, and boarded it again. And while we were waiting the 30 mins. or so until our group number was called, we got to meet Stranger #5 — the Pilot himself. Not only did he assure us we were in the right place, he even invited us into the cockpit before takeoff.
My trip to Maine certainly did not go according to my initial schedule. But even with all the twists and turns, I felt like God was shepherding me — often through the help of strangers.
I know it usually feels safer to try to do everything on our own rather than ask for help or rely on others. But we are never truly alone; God always sees us. And He can meet our needs — even through strangers.
I enjoyed my visit to Maine. It’s good to be back home. And I probably won’t be flying again anytime soon …
Great reflection on how our Heavenly Father cares for us!
Thanks for reading! I'm very glad to be home.