I have a feeling this is just the beginning -

So Nick left on his mission this morning.
The original plan was to say goodbye at the airport and put him one the 6 am flight to SLC, get picked up by my brother there, have breakfast with my Uncle and report at 12:30 at the MTC.

Well - it was raining and they got a late start and there was traffic at 4:30 in the morning so they ended getting there at 515 to catch a 6am flight and dad told me the wrong airline so I parked at the wrong terminal. On farthest side of the airport from the right one.

That morning at home dad's phone broke too so he could get calls but not make them so even though Nick corrected him on the ride over he still couldn't call me and Nick had already turned his phone off. *sigh*

So when I called dad looking for them. In the rain. At 5 am. At the Ontario airport. In my pajamas. Before sunrise. Dad said he'd drop off Nick and then come get me and ferry me to the right terminal and he did. So we were checking in his luggage (that was 5lbs over the limit "$50 please") and realized his flight was going to close and board in two minutes and there was a 20 minute line for the luggage x-ray drop off and then there was the real security to get through. So we looked at each other and he turned around and rescheduled for the next flight to SLC (because there was no way on God's beautiful green Earth and in the physical world that he was going to make that flight).

So we said our teary goodbyes - all of us broke down and we waved to him going up the escalators and then went home and tried to pretend that things were normal.

Turns out that he was shaking and crying all the way through security and when he got to the gate he found out the flight was delayed 2.5 hours! So he had to sit there in this traumatic (though very important) moment and wait. The plane was a tuna fish can and he probably would have been more comfortable riding strapped to the wing or in the cargo bay but he wasn't. He was squashed between BO man and the colicy newborn all the way to SLC where Jonathan was waiting. They jammed to the MTC (pit stopping at Carl's Jr. for good measure and because he hadn't eaten anything and had been up the entire nigth before), and he reported 4 hours late.

His companion must have been freaking out! I called the MTC as soon as I heard and I just said "my brother's flight was delayed and he missed his 12:30 report time. His name is -" and the sweet lady at the front desk said "Nicholas _____" and I said "Yes- that's my brother. I take it you noticed he wasn't there." so that really reassured me.

The MTC is looking out. Heavenly Father is looking out. Not that I ever doubted it but the conceptual-to-tangible transition with the mission was a doozie for me [Enter Weepy Liz]. I was a mess the day he brought home the rest of his shopping asked how to do the "sew on a button thing" and was thumbing through is brand new Missionary Library. My baby brother is off to the world. I'm still crying about it. It's mixed emotion city. I'm deliriously happy for him and confident he'll be the best thing that's happened to missionary work since Parley P. Pratt, but I also will mourn the gaping hole in my everyday life that his absence will be. It's a marvelous thing to have a close knit family and it kills when they have to go. Yay for true doctrine! Opposition in all things. It's part of The Plan and the only way out is through.


So here I go. Here it goes.

Screaming babies, overweight luggage, long hugs, used Kleenex, airport food and growing up and all.

Here we go.