Ten years ago we flew home from China right before Christmas with our newly adopted 2-year-old boy.The flight seemed endless, but at least we knew that after we landed, we would have one final short flight from Chicago to Baltimore. Then we would be home.
As we were taxing into O’Hare Airport, a college student in the row ahead of us turned and said, “If you’re headed anywhere on the East Coast, you’re not going tonight. there are no flights.”
A huge snowstorm had blanketed the Northeast. We were stranded in Chicago with about $20 in cash, no cell phones, and no way to book a new flight with Christmas just days away.
We walked off the plane, and I called my parents collect from an airport pay phone. They confirmed what the college student had told us. Baltimore was covered in snow. We weren’t flying there anytime soon.
Friends we had just met in China helped us find a hotel nearby with a room and then gave us a ride there. After giving up on getting through to the airline, we decided we had only one choice—to drive almost 12 hours home.
The next morning we rented a car and a car seat. John—who had so carefully installed a car seat for our new baby in our very own car that was parked under 2 feet of snow at home—froze as he installed a rented car seat in a rented car in a parking lot in Chicago.
Then we packed up everything we had, buckled our son into the car seat, and started the more than 700-mile drive.
We were tired and jet-lagged. Our son had never been in a car seat or a seat belt in his life. We didn’t actually know what weather we would encounter on the way.
But we knew it was our best option. Because we had doctor’s appointments and my husband had no more time to take from work, it was also our only option. We had to get home.
And, as it turned out, it was a fairly smooth trip. We were together—just the three of us—for the first time. We sang and read books and played games in the car. I didn’t care if our 2-year-old dumped Cheerios on the floor or squealed. Nothing mattered except the fact that we were on our way.
When we needed a break, we stopped and ran around a rest stop. We introduced our little boy to his first McDonald’s cheeseburger in South Bend, Ind. We soaked in the sunshine as we drove. And we enjoyed just being together.
It ended up being an unexpected but beautiful closing to our trip.
I was thinking about that extended part of our journey home as we lit the fourth Advent candle at church this Sunday. It’s easy to view the final Sunday of Advent as a sign of the finish line. This fourth week isn’t even a full week. In many ways, it feels as if we’ve done what we can do. We’ve made it this far. Ready or not, Christmas is coming.
But this last little stretch offers a sliver of time. Maybe it brings an unexpected twist, a different opportunity to experience joy or prepare our hearts in these final days before we celebrate Jesus’ birth. We can coast to Christmas, or we can view these last few days as the last few steps on the way to the manger.
We know the final destination. The Baby Jesus will be waiting for us there. But we don’t know what this last part of the journey will look like. I hope these final days of Advent offer time for prayer, reflection, and a chance for us to learn something new about ourselves or our relationship with Jesus on our road to Bethlehem.
For more on Advent in the Archdiocese of Baltimore, click here.
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