Get Us to the Church on Time WC 299

Get Us to the Church on Time
WC 299

“We're going to be late!” my mother-in-law screamed.

We had gotten a late start.

“Mother!” my wife--riding shotgun--yelled over her shoulder.

“Better late than dead, Marge,” I yelled back.

She was afraid, as was Abby, my white-knuckled wife. So was I, but I couldn't show it. I was supposed to be in control.

The weather had taken a nasty turn right after takeoff from Chicago O’Hare. I knew there was a front moving in, but we needed to get to Cousin Seth's wedding in South Bend on time, if possible. We could have driven the ninety-one miles but flying seemed more like an adventure for the girls.

“You know the ceremony won't wait, Claude,” she screamed over the engine noise. “We should’ve driven!”

To clarify, it was her idea to fly. “Oh, won’t it be fun, kids…”

“Mother!” my wife screamed back. “Stop!”

I patted Abby's hand.

“I'm doing the best I can, Marge,” I called back.

And I was. I've been a licensed pilot with United Airlines for years. The Cessna was a piece of cake, usually…Lightning lit up the plane, thunder rocked it. “BOOM, BOOM.” The storm was a bit too close for comfort. We should’ve driven.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

Marge began reciting Psalm 23: “The Lord is my shepherd—"

“Mother,” Abby yelled back. “Stop, please!”

“Don't you tell me I can't pray!”

She continued.

Suddenly, the sky cleared.


We slipped into our designated pew on time.

Later, at the reception, my mother-in-law bragged, “My son-in-law, Claude, flew us here in his Cessna.”

She patted my back; Abby squeezed my hand. Seems like I was the hero of the day.

I whispered to the heavens. “Thank you, God. And Lord, please have our backs for the flight home. Thank you in advance. Amen.”