It was a bad time.
As I sit in what may be the most boring airport in America—and I mean no disrespect, Green Bay, but come on. There are no shops. There is limited food. And at this point, cheese curds seem to be my primary entertainment option.
There also aren’t many flights out of here.
So I have been sitting for five hours, waiting for a flight that has now been delayed twice, watching the clock and realizing that I am sitting on the precipice of missing my connecting flight in Chicago.
Which means I may end up spending the night there.
Which I do not want to do.
I’ve been on the verge of tears for the last few hours.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the uncertainty. Maybe it’s the cumulative effect of a very full week, a very full month, and a very full heart.
Whatever the reason, today I have not been my usual make-the-best-of-it, find-the-silver-lining, everything-will-work-out self.
And maybe that’s exactly why I noticed something I might otherwise have missed.
There is beauty in bad times.
Not necessarily in the bad thing itself. I’m not going to pretend that flight delays are secretly wonderful or that spending an unexpected night in Chicago is some delightful gift from the universe.
Sometimes things just stink.
But bad times have a way of revealing the people who show up for us.
I reached out to my sister first.
My sister has had the same mantra for practically my entire life:
Circle a date on the calendar two weeks from now. By then, you probably won’t even remember what was bothering you.
This too shall pass.
She reminded me that I have a good book in my suitcase. That I can rest. That I can relax. That eventually—tonight or tomorrow—I will get home.
Then there are my prayer sisters, Christina and Nicol.
The minute I told them I was sitting in an airport, emotionally spent, with delays piling up and the possibility of not making it home tonight, their response was immediate:
We’re praying.
Praying that I get home. Praying that I get there safely. Praying for me when I’m too tired and emotional to muster up much faith of my own.
And there is something so incredibly beautiful about that.
Because when everything is going great, you don’t always stop to realize how blessed you are to have really good people in your world.
People who want you to come home.
People who care that you’re struggling.
People who don’t judge you for being tired or emotional or frustrated.
People who remind you that you don’t have to be the strong one every minute of every day.
Sometimes it takes a bad day to reveal just how rich your life really is.
I definitely would not have chosen this latest edition of Planes, Trains and Automobiles.
I would much rather be on my way home right now.
But as I sit here fighting back tears, something else is happening, too.
My heart is being warmed by kindness.
And maybe that’s the beauty hidden inside the bad times.
They strip away the illusion that we have everything under control. They give us a reason to reach out. And when we do, we discover the hands that were already reaching back toward us.
The people who pray.
The people who encourage.
The people who remind us to open the book in our suitcase and stop staring at the departure board.
The people who simply care.
Tomorrow—or maybe two weeks from now—this airport delay will be nothing more than a story.
But I hope I remember something else about today.
I hope I remember how loved I felt in the middle of it.
Because this too shall pass.
But if we’re paying attention, sometimes the love it reveals stays with us.
