This post is the third in our England 2015 series.
The week of departure was chaos. Pack the bags. Shop for airplane snacks. Clean the house. Finish up work projects. Pack up the cats and bring them to our friends’ house. Back up the computers. As I tied up loose ends at work and at home, staying up into the wee hours of the night, Jon voiced his concern that my stressful aura would spill over into our precious trip. “Don’t worry, honey,” I assured him. “I’m going to be completely crazy-busy this week, but as soon as your Dad pulls up with his car to take us to the airport, I will experience complete calm.”
“Dear Papa, When will Grammie and Grandpa be here to pick us up? Love, Rosie.” There was so much eagerness as our departure time approached that we begged the children to write us notes rather than asking us what time it was. (We blame all spelling errors on the adrenaline.)
The funny thing is, that is exactly what happened. It felt as if the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, descended upon me as soon as we locked the doors and put on our sunglasses. Not that I was freed from all anxieties during those next two weeks, but I was miraculously able to close the doors on all the cares from the previous months of preparation. Call it divine intervention or compartmentalization or living in the moment — whatever happened, it felt awesome. We were on our way, starting a glorious family adventure.
At O’Hare, all packed and ready to fly!
Read the next post in our England 2015 series: The Champion: Our favorite burger for the travel-weary.