My son gets to enjoy the historical trip. I get the hysterical version. Okay, I am overstating it a bit, but I do have my moments.
I would guess there were about 30 people (students and teachers and chaperones), who gathered at the Portland International Airport at 6:15 this morning. All wore matching red long sleeved t-shirts and khaki pants. They flew to Chicago, where they had a scheduled 2-1/2 hour layover. They then boarded a plane for Baltimore but were deplaned (what kind of M&M's did Tattoo like? De plane, de plane) 30 minutes later due to problems with the oil pressure. They were put on another plane and finally took off two hours later than scheduled.
Perhaps I read too much into things, but I feel this change of planes was divine intervention. He did not want that plane, with those kids, in the air today. They arrived safely in Baltimore and then boarded a bus to take them to Williamsburg (a 2-1/4 hr. trip). It was from this bus that I received a call from my son, informing me he was "safe and sound." Amidst all the noise in the background, I reminded him to eat plenty of protein. His response: "I know Mom, I had a glass of water on the plane."
Last night as I was praying for him, the thought came to me - imagine how a mother feels who has sent her son to Iraq? I don't know how I could do something like that. I think you just "do" when you have no choice.
A dear friend of my mother's put it all into perspective when she wrote to me: Welcome to the Mothers' Worry Room - price of admission: one or more children. She also included the following: “Be anxious for nothing but in everything by supplications and prayers let your requests be known with thanksgiving. Then the peace of God shall enter into your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus our Lord.”