A hectic week

It took a few minutes before I realized there was a problem. It had been a hectic week already. On Monday, I had flown to Illinois and met with several people throughout the day before holding services that evening in the town of Tolono where we are planting a new mission church. On Tuesday, I had an early lunch with three people from the new church prior to the one-hour drive to the Bloomington airport and the return flight to Atlanta.

On Wednesday morning, I repacked my suitcase and headed back to Hartsfield-Jackson Airport for a four-hour flight to Salt Lake City, Utah. A family in our church in Sharpsburg had lost their mother and I was going to a little hamlet three hours driving time south of Salt Lake City to attend the funeral on Thursday morning.

So, at about 5:30 p.m., I was standing at the baggage carousel waiting for the green suitcase that held everything I would need for the funeral on the next morning. I had chosen to make the flight dressed as causally as I could and was wearing a pair of khaki trousers, brown walking shoes, and a black T-shirt.

One by one, the other passengers from the Delta flight picked up their bags and departed. Finally, I was left alone with the empty carousel. When the carousel stopped, I knew that I was in trouble. A visit to the lost baggage office confirmed my fear that the suitcase had not made the trip to Salt Lake City.

The man behind the desk was sympathetic and encouraging, assuring me that when — if — the bag came in on a later flight, he would have it sent to me at my hotel in Castledale, Utah. I pointed out that the town was 154 miles south of the airport through canyons and over mountains and asked if they usually shipped bags that far. “Not usually,” he said but assured me that he would do his best. So, voicing out loud that I supposed that this situation “didn’t catch God off guard,” I made my way to the Budget car rental place, picked up my Ford Taurus and headed into the dark.

I’m told that the drive from Salt Lake City to Provo to Price to Castledale is beautiful with stunning views of mountains and canyons, but it was dark and the only thing of interest I saw was a sign that informed me that I was at an elevation exceeding 8,000 feet. I did get out of the car once to stretch in the frigid night air and, in the pitch black of the Utah night, enjoyed a stunning view of stars undimmed by the influence of ground lights.

At 10:30 p.m., I called the Delta baggage office and was informed that the bag made it on a later flight and was being transferred to a vehicle that would deliver it to me prior to the funeral. In the little town of Castledale is a Village Inn that is, I think, the only hotel in the town. When the rooms are full, the office person locks up and goes home, closing the office for the night.

Realizing that, should the carrier bring the suitcase to the hotel office, he would find it closed and not know what to do. So, I spent the night sitting by the window, watching the traffic, sparse as it was, and looking for my suitcase.

Finally, at 7 a.m., I called the baggage office and they said they would check into it. A short time later, I received a call from a man named Chad who said that he had my bag and was on the way. Apparently, Chad had been delivering lost bags throughout the night. “When do you have to walk out of the hotel and head to the funeral?” Chad asked. “I have to walk out the door at 10:40 a.m.,” I told him. “I’ll be there,” he said. “Where are you now?” I asked. “Provo,” he said.

I wasn’t sure he would make it. Provo was a long way off, but I decided I couldn’t do anything about it and went to find breakfast.

I thought about trying to find a place and buy some clothes but, first of all, I’m not a normal size guy and the clothes I buy off the rack always need altering. Secondly, as far as I could tell, there wasn’t a Wal-Mart or a clothing store within a hundred miles. I decided that, if Chad didn’t arrive, I would just be the worst dressed person at the funeral.

At 10:20 a.m., an SUV arrived in the parking lot and a young man headed toward room 121 with my green bag. I met Chad at the head of the stairs and gave him a $30 tip, which seemed to surprise and delight him.

I made it to the funeral on time, to the great surprise of the family who didn’t know I was coming. I spent much of the day with the family and at 2 a.m. on Friday got up to head back to Salt Lake City, once again missing what I am told is stunning scenery, although I was peppered with snow.

The four-hour return flight was without incident and the bag made it to Atlanta just fine. A wedding rehearsal awaited me on Friday evening in anticipation of the marriage of a couple who had been high school sweethearts — 50 years ago. All in all, it was a good week.

Someone said, “Weren’t you exhausted? “Naw,” I replied. “After the two services on Sunday and a six-hour nap Sunday afternoon, I was just fine.”