Make it work

All right. As of this morning, the airport’s still open. Looks like I’m getting on a plane.

Me and about a zillion other people. Only I’m not evacuating. I’m making a quick 24-hour trip to speak at a church retreat in St. Louis, planning to fly back tomorrow and get in just before the Orlando airport closes at 5 PM.

And I imagine the flight back won’t be nearly as packed as the flight out. Who would knowingly fly INTO a hurricane’s path?

Well, I would. I’m a mom. And a wife. Both of which make you do ridiculous things. If I had a dollar for every stupid thing I’ve ever done for the love of a child or husband, Publishers Clearing House would be coming to ME for money. (I still can’t believe I didn’t win last week. They just break your heart, don’t they?)

You should have heard these people.

Caroline started trying to talk me out of my trip earlier this week. As airports began to close, Brad began to worry. (My outward processor. Never have to wonder what he’s thinking.) Last night Beau and Syd got back here for the weekend.

I mentioned my trip and Beau looked at me, astonished, “You’re leaving us?”

Sydney, feigning sadness, looked down and said, “She wants a tree to fall on us.”

Brad just laughed. See, this is how Statons make you feel loved and wanted. They heap guilt on you. It’s sweet.

“You guys, I’ll be right back. I’ll be here for the storm.”

They weren’t terribly convinced and honestly, neither am I. But all I can do is make the best decision I can with the information that I’ve got. My flight gets in to Orlando at 2:30 PM tomorrow and the airport closes at 5 PM. It should be fine.

However, if I’ve learned nothing else as a 5^th-generation Floridian and a lifelong Christian, I’ve learned that neither hurricanes nor God are influenced by what I’ve put on MY calendar. They’ve got their own agendas that trump mine every time.

I was what-iffing myself into a tizzy yesterday, trying to think through every possible scenario as I decided what to do. I finally texted the organizer:

“Okay, here’s what I’m getting. If the airport is open tomorrow (Friday), I’m supposed to go. We’re called to live one day at a time and there’s no point in losing my mind trying to predict every little variable. God can get me home if He wants.”

Following that conversation, the airport officially announced its plan to close at 5 PM Saturday, the governor closed all Florida schools Friday and Monday (to my kids great delight who immediately started making plans with their friends), I booked the last flight back into OIA from St. Louis and the retreat committee moved their entire retreat schedule around to accommodate my brief appearance.

At this point, we’ve done all we can.

It’s not like me being home will move the storm, save any trees or lives. But my presence helps calm the storms in the hearts of my family members. (As a woman, I have finally learned to not underestimate my God-given gift of influence. Ladies, if you haven’t figured this out yet, just know you’re sitting on a nuclear weapon that can be wielded for good or for evil. Learn to use it. For good, I mean.)

So this step onto the airplane in a few hours is not a small step of faith. It’s pretty significant. But I’m taking it. (And my stomach is going to just have to deal with it.)

I heard Christine Caine say one time, “Being faithFUL doesn’t mean you’re fearLESS. It just means you’re listening to your FAITH over your FEAR.” She went on to talk about being a working traveling mother, “I’ve got to make it work just like you do.”

Make it work. That phrase has become my new mantra.

I’ll never forget the conversation I had with Brad when I was contemplating beginning my coaching business. I had full confidence in my coaching ability. But starting a business and marketing MYSELF just did not fit with my skill set.

“It could take a while to get this thing off the ground,” I explained to my dauntless husband.

He shrugged. “Okay, take a couple of months, throw your shoulder into it and let’s see what happens.”

“But what if it doesn’t work?” I pressed.

He shrugged and looked at me, confused, “Make it work.”

I laughed at the simplicity of the strategy. Make it work, indeed. It was like when I asked Sydney for a pep talk back in my jogging days of how to get past the wall I was hitting at 22 minutes, trying to make it to 30.

“When you start to feel like you can’t run anymore, just … don’t stop.”

And they’re serious when they talk like this. They’re not trying to be funny or ironic. But obviously, the plan is simple and I’m just overcomplicating it with all my what-ifs and excuses.

But what I love about both of those responses is that both my husband and my daughter had full confidence that I had the ability to accomplish what was in front of me. And in both cases, I cheated off their confidence and miraculously succeeded.

As mothers, we know this. We know we have to pull off the impossible sometimes. After we realize that all our preemptive freaking out did not move any of the obstacles, we lower our shoulders and push through.

Do what ya gotta do.

Whatever it takes.

Just keep running.

Make it work.

This nonsensical approach to problems is not limited to moms or women, for that matter. We eventually get there, but guys can get there much quicker. (They don’t waste time working out their what-if muscle. They’re focusing on their just-do-it muscle. Their inability to multitask works in their favor in this situation. Must be nice.)

So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go try to smash my Wonder Woman suit and sword into my carryon. And I’ll probably grab one of those Little Debbies from our hurricane stash on my way out.

Just makin’ it work.