I'm Just Sayin'

About a week ago, I boarded a plane for home. Of course, it was the holidays, and traveling during the holidays is a terrible, awful, no good, very bad idea. After a delayed flight out of Colorado, I found myself standing in Cincinnati, watching my plane taxi down the runway–without me on it.

My physical response said it all. I stood hunched over at the ticket counter, staring at the ground while the Delta employee printed out my hotel voucher. I trudged away, dragging my bag behind me, feeling utterly dejected. I knew it wasn’t the end of the world. I knew I would see my family in another 12 hours or so. I knew there were people stranded in airports. I knew there were people much worse off than me. I knew. I knew. I knew.

But none of that mattered. I just felt tired and sad. Because those 12 hours I was going to miss with my family were precious to me. And being alone, in this town where I knew no one, staying alone at the hotel, none of that was in my plan. And as I boarded the shuttle with a dozen other weary travelers, I just felt misplaced.

Now, please understand me. I was not feeling spiritual. Not in the least bit. Many of the things I was thinking were as far from spiritual as you could get. But in that moment, a thought came to mind.

You’re not the only person who has felt misplaced at Christmas.

And at first, I was like, seriously? Seriously? You’re going to try to teach me a lesson about Christmas right now? When I am cranky and angry and sad? And a pretty cliche one at that. You’re going to go all “no room in the inn” on me?

See, I told you I wasn’t feeling spiritual. At all.

But the thought had already taken root. And suddenly, I couldn’t get the thought of Mary and Joseph out of my head. Of them as exhausted, dusty travelers. Wandering through a foreign city. Dazed and frightened. Did anybody help them? Offer Mary a cup of water. Give Joseph directions?

And when they finally got to the stable–did Mary have frustrated tears in her eyes? Was Joseph angry at the deviation from the plan?

I always wondered if Mary and Joseph told Jesus the story of his birth. If they described the exhausting journey and told him about his humble beginnings. Did they reflect on the smells and sights of their son’s birth each year? As the years passed, did they laugh about the irony of using a feeding trough for a cradle?

How misplaced they must have felt. But they weren’t misplaced. They were exactly where they were intended to be.

In the center of God’s plan.

In the city of David, a savior was born.

And they will find him, wrapped in cloths, laid in a manger.

And he will be called Immanuel.

I don’t know if there was a bigger reason for me missing my flight that night. Perhaps it was just to remind me that there is a plan for me. And that, while this is not my home, I am not misplaced. God knows exactly where I am. He is in control. Even when all else is chaos.