Luggage

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This is the story of what happened to me on the most important day of our lives: The day we were to meet our three daughters for the very first time. 

Needless to say, my mind was elsewhere. Not a good day to have to navigate an airport and try to keep track of your luggage…

Here’s what happened:

“You guys grabbed my luggage for me when I was in the bathroom, right?” I asked the group I traveled with. They were already seated on our plane and had boarded while my friend Kimm and I had taken a last-minute trip to the bathroom. We were on our way back from hosting a Community Bible Study conference in Birmingham, Alabama. My husband would pick me up from the airport, and then we would go straight to meet our daughters.

At least, that was the plan.

“No,” they told me, looking at each other.  “We didn’t grab it.”

I stared at them, confused and thinking about the fact that my name wasn’t on my luggage. And most importantly…

“My Bible’s in it,” I said. 

My Bible had all of my notes about the girls in it, all the stories of what God had done to get us this far, to this very important day.

Frantic, I ran to the front of the plane and asked the flight attendant if I could go back and look for it.

“I’m sure it’s where I was sitting,” I told her. “I just didn’t see it. I thought my friends had it.”

“You have one minute,” she said. “One minute.”

I ran down the breezeway, and a guy had to unlock the door to the airport for me with a key card. I frantically looked around and saw that my luggage was nowhere in sight. 

“Can I just run down to the Starbucks really fast?” I asked him. “That’s probably where I left it.”

“You have two minutes. That’s all I can give you.” He was young. I could tell he was nervous about getting in trouble.

“Thank you!”  

I ran off with my huge purse and my red coat tucked under my arm. I made it to the Starbucks and looked around, seeing nothing. 

There was a TSA agent standing nearby. I ran up to him.  

“I don’t even have time to ask you this right now but have you heard about a gray suitcase that was left here? My plane is taking off!”

“Let me ask.” He got on his radio as I pictured that door locking back up and my flight taking off without me. 

We both heard the response on the radio: Birmingham Police Department had picked it up. 

Great.

The TSA agent told me where the police department’s office was, down the escalator and to the right. 

“Thank you!” I called as I ran off yet again. 

I prayed the whole time – out loud like a crazy person. “Hold my plane. Please God! Hold my plane!” I ran down the escalator and down the hallway, and then tried to pull the door open to the police department. It was locked. This wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but I pounded on the door with my fist. An officer answered immediately and asked what was going on.

“My luggage!” I yelled. “My plane is taking off. Do you have the gray suitcase that was left at Starbucks?”

“Let me check.” He radioed yet another person, and I knew I was running out of time. But I also felt like I was doing the right thing. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

Or maybe I should’ve left it. I didn’t really know. My brain was a muddy mess.

The person on the other end of the radio said that Lost and Found had my suitcase now. It had been checked – for explosives, probably – and cleared.

“They’re down the hall in the other direction,” the officer told me.  “On the left.” 

I ran all the way back down the hall and actually passed it on accident, and then ran back. There was a small man there, standing behind the counter and looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

“Do you have a gray suitcase?” I asked, breathless. “My plane’s taking off!”

“We’ve only had one come in today.” He reached behind the counter and picked it up. 

It was mine.

I didn’t have time to celebrate. I don’t even remember if I thanked him, I just ran off towards the escalators again…but came to a dead stop. There was a problem. The escalators only went down, not back up. 

Confusion and shock, that’s what I felt as I stood there and contemplated running the wrong way up the escalator. The TSA agent who’d originally helped me saw me from above. 

“You have to go back through security,” he said.

I blinked up at him. My heart sank as I registered his words. I can’t tell you how hard that hit me. I wasn’t going to make my flight. We wouldn’t get to meet our daughters that day after all. I was going to be left behind in Alabama and would probably have to spend the night alone in a hotel room until I could get on another flight tomorrow. 

I almost cried, but I started running again. 

I had to try. 

As I went, my phone rang. It was Kimm, one of the women I traveled with.

“Lisa, we’re leaving. Can you be back here in one minute?”

I had almost reached the security line. 

“I need a few minutes, Kimm.” A few minutes. Right. “Can you stall them?”

“I don’t think so.  They said they have to take off.”

“You have to stall them, Kimm.”

“I don’t know if – ”

“Tell them about my girls, Kimm! Tell them about my girls!”

I heard determination in her voice now. “Okay!  I will!” We hung up.

I got to the security line and immediately asked everyone – in a very loud and startling voice – if I could skip ahead of them. No shame. “Please!  My flight is taking off!” They saw how flustered I was, how wild my eyes probably looked, so every single person in that line moved aside. 

Of course, I couldn’t find my ID in my giant purse. I kid you not, at this point I was on the floor digging through my purse and saying, “Jesus!  Jesus, I need you.  Please.  Please hold my plane!” 

I finally found my ID and held it up to the guy, hearing whispers behind me about how “we all have flights to get to, lady.” I didn’t care. They had no idea why I had to get home. This was the most important day of our lives.

I flew through security and then I was running again, faster than I ever have before, in heels with my suitcase trailing behind me and my purse and red coat flapping in the wind. People moved back when they heard me charging towards them. They turned to stare as I blazed by.

I wish I could tell you this was the first time I had ever run through an airport. It wasn’t. You don’t want to travel with me, trust me. My husband and I missed our flight to Kauai for our honeymoon. We found out that day that they don’t hold flights for people. Not even for a brand-new couple heading to their honeymoon and their new life. Now, I was a new mom heading to her new life, and the door would be closed just like it was ten years before. I just knew it. I was sure my plane was taxying down the runway so it could take off.

But I was wrong.

That kid was still there, like an angel guarding the door.

“Where have you been?!” he asked. 

“I’m so sorry!  I’m sorry!”

I was shocked. I felt like time had stopped. 

He led me halfway down the breezeway at a jog, and all I could think as I gasped for air was, I can’t believe this. It’s still here. It’s here. We’re meeting our daughters today.

The young man waved for me to go past him and I hurried down towards the turn that led to the door of the plane. My pounding heels sounded hollow in my ears. I worried about what everyone thought of me. I was embarrassed, breathless, sweating. I cursed myself for being out of shape.

And then, the strangest thing happened. As I turned the corner, I saw that the flight attendants and pilots were all waiting for me at the door to the plane.

They were clapping. Lots of people were clapping.

“I’m so sorry!” I said. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay!  It’s okay!”

The flight attendant wrapped her arms around me, and the pilots patted me on the back. I didn’t understand what was going on because I was still so flustered. I made my way to my seat towards the center of the plane, apologizing to people the whole way. I sat down next to a guy in his mid-twenties, and Kimm was across the aisle from him. The people I traveled with were in seats in front of me and behind, and the relief that they weren’t leaving me by myself in Birmingham was evident on their faces.

“I’m so sorry,” I told them breathlessly.

They were all smiling, like they had a secret. 

Kimm leaned over, took my hand, and told me what had happened:

“The flight attendant used to be with Child Protective Services,” she said.

I was still trying to catch my breath, trying to process this. 

Kimm went on. “She also used to be a foster mom. When I told her what you were doing today and why we needed to hold the plane, she was thrilled. But she still didn’t know if she could stall the pilots.” Kimm smiled. “Lisa, a pilot came back after he found out why you needed to get home. He told us, ‘We’ll hold this plane as long as she needs us to hold it.’”

I immediately burst into tears. I couldn’t help it. 

Kimm squeezed my hand. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay. You made it.”

People turned to me and offered tissues and comforting words. Even the poor guy sitting next to me comforted me. The woman behind me had also adopted her children.

“Of course you lost your luggage,” she said. “You have more important things on your mind.”

Praise God. He held my plane.

“It was not by their sword that they won the land, nor did their arm bring them victory; it was Your right hand, Your arm, and the light of Your face, for You loved them.”

Psalm 44:3