I'll Be Home For Christmas...But (Hopefully Not) Only In My Dreams

I write this post while sitting in the British Library. In front of me is the entrance to the gallery displaying Shakespeare's First Folio, the Lindisfarne Gospels, Magna Carta, a Gutenberg Bible, a music manuscript by Handel, as well one for a Beatles' song, and the original hand-written Alice's Adventures Underground (Alice in Wonderland). To my right is the Rare Books and Music Reading Room, where I have spent many happy days pouring over 500 year-old books. Behind me is the King George Library (the monumental glass-fronted, five-storey-tall collection donated to the Library by George III). But even surrounded by all of these beautiful and inspiring books, all I can think about is home.

I should be updating this blog from my parents' living room, as the lights twinkle on the Christmas tree, watching Dad bribe Megan into wrapping presents for him while Mom bustles in the background, waiting for Matt and Jesse to show up. I was scheduled to be home last Friday evening, 17 December. You see, a few weeks ago it snowed, rather early for Britain. And they had no idea how to handle it. Edinburgh Airport was caught out and things were a bit chaotic. So when I boarded my flight from Edinburgh to London, I figured everything would go smoothly. Then our departure was delayed by 15 minutes. Due to snow. In London. But we got off the ground and were on our way. We reached London about an hour later and were told we couldn't land yet. So we circled for about 45 minutes. When we were finally allowed to land, we discovered that we couldn't actually park the plane and disembark because, due to the 20 minutes of snowfall they had had while we were in the air, the planes parked in the stands needed to be de-iced. So we sat on the tarmac. For three and a half hours. I was calm and cheerful the whole time. I figured if I missed my flight, it wasn't my fault and the British Air would put me on another, and if that flight wasn't the same day, then they would put me up in a hotel.

...Then I got to the Terminal. There were people everywhere, but it was actually rather quiet. Thousands of people standing in lines, sipping coffee in the cafes, sitting on the industrial airport chairs. Waiting. I joined this waiting, only to discover that my connecting flight to Philadelphia had taken off as I was finally disembarking from my Edinburgh flight. And they couldn't do anything for me. They couldn't book me another flight and they couldn't book me into a hotel. I waited in one essentially useless line for over an hour and a half (however, the agent, bless her, was lovely and pleasant and so sympathetic). I waited in another line that was supposed to stay open until 10:30, only for them to close it at 8. By this time I hadn't eaten anything since a muffin at breakfast. All this time (from the moment the pilot said we were going to have to sit in the plane for a while), my friends Katherine, Jennie, and Claire had been keeping me company via text messages, and my Dad was texting me with updates and news.

I called my parents, almost in tears (as some of you know, I am NOT one for crying), and my Dad immediately got on the phone, trying to find me the next flight home. He had more success with the American call centre (fewer people calling) than the people around me were having with the British call centre. He got me on a flight to Newark for Sunday the 19th. Meanwhile, my friend Pete was willing to put me up for a night or two, in spite of it being one of the busiest weekends (leading up to the busiest week) in his year. He's a minister, so the Christmas season is chaotic enough without an unexpected house guest showing up on his doorstep at 11 on a snowy evening.

Since I am writing this from the British Library on Monday, I am sure you have figured out that I did not fly out on Sunday. That flight was cancelled. While they only had one inch of snow on Friday, causing the initial kerfuffle, they had about 4-6 inches on Friday. If the British Airport Authority couldn't handle one measly little inch, they certainly weren't going to be able to handle half a foot.

But my Dad, ever the valiant knight in shining armour (even after being woken up at 4:30 am on Sunday), booked me onto the next available flight: Thursday the 23rd. So that is the plan. For the time being I'm staying at Pete's (where I have a lovely room of my own and access to endless cups of tea), coming to the British Library (where I hope to be able to get some work done--if I can concentrate long enough), and waiting. Before you ask, flying out of other airports isn't really an option, as the train services have also been unreliable because of what the British media is calling 'Arctic Conditions'.

I keep hearing rumours that it might snow again on Wednesday. Or even Thursday. I know that we can't control the weather. But I know many of you who read this blog know The One who does control the weather. So any prayers would be greatly appreciated. And if worse comes to worst, I have at least five British friends who have invited me to spend Christmas with them. But I really want to go home for Christmas...

I seem to have a lot of adventures when traveling--lost luggage, missing passports-- but this is the biggest adventure yet. I'm trying stay optimistic and make the most of my unexpected time in London. But the uncertainty of everything is driving me to distraction. But one thing I do know: 'Though my flesh and my heart may fail, God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.' (Psalm 73:26).