This past weekend, I was fortunate enough to get to attend the 2015 Edel Gathering.  (If you’d like to see more about the event on social media, look for the hashtag #edel15.)

My journey began Friday morning with my 3:15 a.m. alarm to get me up and out the door in time to make it on my 7 a.m. flight out of Omaha.  I drove to Omaha in the dark, enjoying the solitude and listening to a podcast of The Doctor is In.  I made it to the airport with time to spare and boarded the flight to Atlanta just as the sun was coming up.

I took this picture from the air to prove to you fine non-Nebraskans that we have more than cornfields to offer!  Look!  Omaha is a real metropolis!

Once I landed in Atlanta, I made my way over to the flight schedule to make sure my connecting flight to Charleston was on time.  It was, so I headed over to get a bite to eat and relax for a few minutes before heading to my gate.

Well, you see, it’s dangerous for this lady to travel alone.  The idea of eating by myself (even in a crowded international airport) was so soothing that I lost all track of time.  I glanced at my clock and realized I had somehow gotten my times wrong with the time change to realize that my flight was boarding.  I ran toward the gate as quickly as I could.  As I arrived at the gate, the scene played out in slow motion.  I saw the plane still sitting next to the gate, but they were pulling away the walkway, closing the door to the ramp, and the screen at the gate read:

Panting, I said, “Is it gone?  Is there any way I can board?”

The curt airline employee snapped.  “Are you Catherine Bow-chur?  Where have you been?!  I’ve been paging you!”

“Yes, it’s me, I’m sorry.  I ran here as quickly as I could.  Is there any way I can get on that flight?”

“No.  But you can go down past that gate to check and see if the airline can board you on a later flight.”

Still panting, I walked away from the gate toward the airline counter.  At that moment, I realized in my exertion to make my flight, I had most definitely peed my pants.  (Note to self:  Time to resume my pelvic floor physical therapy exercises.)  Guh-ross.  Fortunately, I was wearing dark denim capris and could wrap my jacket around my waist to cover up the embarrassment.  Lovely!  Also, I was carrying on, so I had my clothes with me.  Phew.

Before getting to change, I had to visit the airline counter to see if I could get on a later flight.  Miracle of miracles, they had a flight departing an hour later and could squeeze me on.  Yay!  I got a ticket for that flight and quickly made my way to the restroom to, uh, freshen up.  Let me tell ya, there’s nothing like being able to change into new clothes after peeing your pants after missing your flight.  I was a new woman, ready for whatever came my way.

I reported straight to the gate, got my new seat assignment, and stayed put until boarding.  I wasn’t going to risk missing a second flight.  This mama distracted by freedom learned her lesson!

As I made my way onto the plane, I had my first of several Catholic starstruck moments when I saw Kathryn Whitaker, one of my favorite bloggers at Team Whitaker, sitting on my flight.  At this point in my journey, I was a complete bumbling fool who had forgotten all of my social niceties.  “Kathryn Whitaker?!”  I exclaimed more than asked, like a junior high girl at a boy band concert.  She met my (likely) crazed eyes.  “Hi!  Catherine Boucher.  I’ve been a long-time reader of your blog.”  Being the gracious southerner that she is, she sweetly extended her hand to shake mine as I fumbled with my luggage.  There were a million questions I wanted to ask her in that moment.  Instead, we made a quick connection to our mutual friend, Lisa Schmidt, and I blurted out, “How’s your knee?”  Creepy stalker that I am, I knew that she had broken her knee cap the previous week but was still soldiering her way across the country to Edel.  She ever-so-sweetly answered that it was okay, the line of boarding passengers moved forward, and I said that I would see her at Edel.  We didn’t get to speak again at the conference, but I admired her ability to keep her signature smile on all weekend despite the pain she had to be in.  Way to go, soldier!

“Very cool,” I thought.  “If I had made my first flight, I probably wouldn’t have gotten to meet Kathryn Whitaker.”  I made my way to my seat, sat down, closed my eyes, and waited for our flight to get going to so that I could get to Edel.  Ten minutes later, the captain came over the speakers.  As it turned out, the plane was originally scheduled to go to Belize.  It had 9,000 more pounds of fuel in the tank than it needed for our hour-long flight to Charleston.  As the flight captain explained, having too much fuel doesn’t sound like much of a problem until it comes to landing.  If a plane lands with too much fuel, the weight throws off the plane and can cause a crash.

Thirty minutes later, the captain came back on.  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve been flying for 24 years, and I have never seen anything like this.”  This is never what you want to hear.  “We are waiting for a tanker to come out.  You see, we can’t put the fuel directly back into the ground.  Instead, we need a tanker to remove the fuel from the plane.  We’re doing everything we can to find someone to help us out.”

Sixty minutes later, a flight attendant comes over the speakers.  “The captain is out there doing everything he can to get us going as soon as possible.  The tanker is on its way to remove the fuel.”

The passengers were starting to get hot and irritable.  The flight attendants passed out pretzels and mini bottles of water.  I overheard an older gentleman behind me say, “You know, I miss the good ol’ days. In the good ol’ days, when this sort of thing happened, they’d give you a drink. Now, we just get this water. I miss the good ol’ days.”

Twenty minutes later, the tanker arrived.

Another twenty minutes later, the captain come on.  “The tanker has removed 6,000 pounds of fuel and has 3,000 pounds to go.  We should be on our way shortly.”

Finally, we heard these beautiful words:  “Flight crew, please prepare the cabin for takeoff.”  Hallelujah!

During the fuel fiasco, I introduced myself to my two seat mates.  They were newlyweds from Illinois.  Throughout the course of the flight, the bride and I kept chatting while her hubby snoozed and listened to music on his headphones.  When she learned that I was attending a conference for a bunch of Catholic women, her eyes brightened.  “I’m Catholic!”  She shared how important her faith is to her, that she hopes to have a large family, and that she is praying for her husband to convert.  “I want it for him, but I know that he has to want it.”  By the end of the flight, we had talked about how she could get her marriage convalidated (blessed by the Church) and how easy it would be to get right back into living life as a Catholic.  We parted ways, saying that we would be keeping each other in prayer.  It was yet another moment on the way to Edel when I thought, “I guess I was supposed to be here instead of where I had planned to be.”

We landed in Charleston, and I made my way out to the street level.  I had resigned myself to taking a taxi solo to the airport since I had long missed my original meet-up time with my roomie.  Miracle of miracles, I spotted Lisa Schmidt, friend and blogger at The Practicing Catholic, with her sister and friends.  As it turned out, they were walking out to meet their Uber ride and graciously offered me a spot in the car.  On the way to the Francis Marion (the hotel where Edel was taking place), I had a wonderful conversation with the ladies in the car.  I had just met some of the ladies, but we were able to bypass the usual small talk, and we cut to the heart.  Yet again, it was one of those moments when I thought, “This is exactly where I am supposed to be.  Thank You for not letting my plans come to fruition.”  The car ride was just a small glance into what the rest of the Edel weekend would be like.  “These are my people,“ I thought.  “I am not alone as a Catholic wife and mother.  They get me.”  

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I’ll pick up next time with the rest of my Edel weekend.  It was well worth the wild journey to get there!