Nashville and a change in plans

The last week in October I flew into Nashville TN.  I've only been to that airport one other time.  When I arrived in the newly renovated airport it was after 10:00PM and the concourse was fairly quiet.  I went down the escalator to the baggage floor, then continued downward on another escalator to the lowest level for Ground Transportation and Rental Cars.  The silence in that area was in profound contrast to the roar of voices I heard the first time I took that escalator.

On September 11, 2001 my husband dropped me off at Bradley Airport where I boarded my plane to Houston TX to visit with my parents.  It was an early flight leaving around 6:00AM - if all went well I'd be in Houston in time to have lunch with Mom and Dad.  Things did not go as planned.

Only one-and-a-half hours from Houston the pilot came on to say that the FAA had asked all planes
to land so we were heading to Nashville, the closest large airport.  He told us that he'd get back with us after we landed with more information.  I heard a man's voice 4 or 5 rows ahead talking.  I only caught the words "plane" and "building".  It meant nothing to me.  My own mind was logically working this out that there must have been an issue with the computers at the control towers.  Maybe a communications breakdown nationwide.  That thought made me a little nervous about the landing.

Once on the ground the pilot came back on and told us about the planes going into the World Trade Center buildings.  As we disembarked and entered the concourse there was a TV on and as we turned to check it out we watched the first tower collapsed.  We learned that a plane had flown into the Pentagon and another plane had crashed in PA.  We looked at one another, all with expressions of  confusion, asking one another, "What is going on?"

I headed to the pay phones and called home to leave a message for my husband and also called my mother-in-law.  Then I called my Mom and told her I'd get back to her when I figured out what to do.  I hung up the phone with that question continuing in my head, "What am I going to do?"  As I stood there a woman came up to me and asked if I had been heading to Houston.  I said yes and she told me she was a lawyer who had been returning to Houston after doing some work up in New England.  After calling her family she called her law office and someone there had started calling rental car companies trying to find a car in Nashville.  This woman told me she had a reservation for one and asked if  I wanted to join her.  Her eyesight kept her from driving after dark so she also wanted to know if I could drive at night.  I was fine with that.

We picked up our luggage and headed down to the rental area.  It was packed and the roar of voices made it hard for us to hear one another.  Many of the companies already had signs out: "No more cars".  We hoped that our rental company truly had the car that their computer had shown available.  It did and we were soon on our way. 


My travel that day was a sort of pilgrimage.  Accompanied by a stranger we got to know one another better as we traveled; we made stops and checked in with our families.  As the horrors of what had happened unfolded we were able to talk through our fears with one another.  We traveled across the countryside, following the roads to Houston.  Ten years later I walked across the countryside of Spain, following the road to Santiago de Compostella.  I was accompanied by strangers, many who I got to know better.   As I walked I found I had to change my plans a number of times and in fact,  I found that "letting go" of plans seemed to be a major theme of the pilgrimage.

I had become a pilgrim to mark my 60th birthday and to reflect on the final third of my life.  The physical and mental act of letting go along the way, I realized, would certainly play out in my life after I returned home.  I'd watched my own parents age and talked to many, many retired clergy and spouses.  Plans are made and then something happens.  The death of a spouse or the diagnosis of a serious chronic illness might change the entire direction of one's retirement.

I reflected on the theme of "letting go" as I walked the Camino and I found that the companion theme was building trust in God, not trusting that God is going to step in and make things go the way I think I want them to go, however.  It's a more subtle thing, an understanding that I will trust God is always with me - helping me to find the strength, courage, patience, creativity, compassion that has always been within me.

My date of retirement, January 1st, is quickly approaching.  That in itself will be a be "letting go" as I step away from twenty-five years with Preachers' Aid Society and my identity there.  I have done much in preparation and I've made some plans for the early months of my retirement. I wonder how long before a find myself needing to make a change in plans.  For this my prayer is  "God, help me to hold on to the coming days lightly, ready to let go of plans easily and to make room for change.  Thank you for the friends, the family, and the strangers along the way who will reach out to help me on this journey.  And God, I trust that you will be there too!"