Letting Go From 11F

Our plane door closes.

“All cell phones must now be turned off.”

I finish my text and shut down my phone. I let go. Of unfinished reminders. Of anything left on my to do before I go list.

Our plane taxis. “We are number one for take off.”

It is a day of blue skies over Pittsburgh. I lean my head against the tiny bubble window. Taking in the beauty of western PA from this birds eye view.

I remember days when I use to travel for work. Three to four days per week. Racking up miles. Sitting in first class.  Airports became a second home. Up in the sky, a sanctuary of sorts. I would journal and rest in being ‘out of touch’. I planned my wedding from 30,000 feet in the sky.

But that was fourteen years ago.

Today I’m writing from 11F. Today took me days of planning, of preparing a household and details. I’m sitting next to a kind man who is twice my size and who is playing a video game that seems to require sudden movements.

I lean closer to the window.

I don’t miss traveling for work. Although at the time, I loved it. Loved getting a taste of new cities and cultures. Loved the variety.

I lean closer to the window, and lean closer in to God. He is right here with me in this confined space. Creating a bit of freedom for my soul. He reflects with me on this life of mine. Of the letting go times. The letting go that makes room for something unknown.

We remember a plane ride from Guatemala City to Houston. Houston to Seattle. An eight month, big eyed boy in our arms. That was October 2007. I haven’t taken a plane trip without him since that. Until today.

We’ve taken lots of trips. We lived in Seattle. My family in Minnesota. Rob’s in South Carolina.

I let go of corporate travel for navigating security lines with a stroller and a diaper bag. We all take different paths that God knows will reveal beauty. This has been mine.

A letting go for something new.

No plane trips without him for six years. Until today.

I actually had a moment of panic at the gate. “Oh no!” I thought. “I’ve misplaced a bag.” My hands felt empty, my body seemed to sense that something wasn’t right in this familiar setting. Then I remembered. Nope, this is all I’ve got. It’s just me.

A letting go. I brush aside a few sentimental tears, sitting here in 11F. I know my tears aren’t really just for taking a trip without him. They represent so much more. The trip opens the door to feeling the impact of letting go. At the leaving of stages and seasons behind for the unseen that lies ahead. Trusting in something greater than myself.

I woke him this morning to say goodbye. Half asleep he grabbed my arm. “Don’t go mommy!!” I hug him and give him a kiss and say I’ll see you on Saturday. He sits up, more alert. “Saturday? That’s not very long. That’s only like today and then another day.” (We are still working on math.) He cheerfully says goodbye and asks if I will bring him something home from this trip like daddy always does.

He lives in the in between so much better than I do. He knows he will miss me. He knows he will be taken care of. He knows I will come home. And he holds it all and the emotions it entails in his huge heart.

And here from 11F, I know that buses will be caught and swim lessons will be made. Kids will be fed and clothed and homework will be done. All without me. And that is good from time to time.

A letting go for something unknown.

A friend texted me this verse as I was getting on the plane. I turn my focus to it.

“So do not throw away this confident trust in the Lord. Remember the great reward it brings you. Patient endurance is what you need now, so that you will continue to do God’s will. Then you will receive all that he has promised.” Hebrews 10:35-36

I read all of Hebrews 10. I see letting go in a new light. Endurance. Persevering. All involve this letting go to make room for not just the good. But the best. Holding on unswervingly to the hope we profess for he who promised is faithful.

Holding on to hope. Answering the call to preserve to continue to do God’s will. Letting go. Holding on.

Over Pennsylvania, I let go of control.

Over West Virginia, I let go of pride.

Over Kentucky, I let go of worry.

Over Tennessee, I let go of ‘fear’ of what people might think of me.

I throw off all of this that so easily entangles to run with perseverance this race marked out for me. I have to tell you that there is something tangible about throwing off hindrances from a plane when there is wide open space beneath and all around you. (Sorry Kentucky for all that worry. Your mountains seemed strong enough to handle it.)

In the letting go, ‘Christ in me’ shines brighter. In letting go, I hold on tighter to hope.

I land in Nashville, a transformation of a mom leaving for a few days. Ready for a conference full of women encouraging ministry. Ready for what Christ in me might be doing.

And that I will never let go of.

Linking today with Tell His Story

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