The Airport

It is October! Somehow we have made it through 3/4 of this year and here we sit, with the holidays before us and the summer behind us. It amazes me that we are here already.

October also signifies the second anniversary of my dad being in Alamosa. He is still there, by the way.

Somehow we hit a routine this summer. For a girl who thrives on routine, this is a very welcome change. He comes home once a month for 72 hours and we go down there once a month for a day filled with chips, salsa and Walmart. It is in no way normal; it is bizarre down to its roots. But it has become familiar and there is a strange comfort in the familiar.

I realize that I rarely write about this journey, partly because of this new routine and partly because I do not always have the words. But, for the next month, I want to share the big and small ways God has kept us afloat, kept our noses barely above water, for the past 23 long months. These are His stories and His stories must be shared.

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It is 460 miles round trip to Alamosa. That is seven hours on the road, any way you slice it. Thankfully, you have the Great Plains and one very long mountain pass to keep you entertained. Oh, and there is a Taco Bell.

However, there is an airport in Alamosa. AN AIRPORT. The chances of this town having an airport are slim to none, especially since they only have one Starbucks and zero Targets, all the things that point towards civilization and modernity. But yet, there it is, in the middle of a valley, exactly 100 yards from Camp Alamosa.

There just so happens to be direct flights in and out of Denver everyday, and one combination in particular allows for a 72-hour window. Exactly 72 hours.

When does that ever happen in your schedule? I'll tell you when: never. It never happens.

The drives down there and back (x2) would definitely cost more than a plane ticket. And it would inevitably mean that a person is taking a day off of work each month to drive down and pick him up. When you combine that with traffic, bad weather and the possibility of car trouble, his 72 hour furlough would become more like 50. And trust me when I say this: that his a huge difference!

Somehow, in some way, God placed my dad in a location that would allow for 72 hours of normalcy every month in the most cost-effective, time-maximizing way. And he allowed for this airport to be walking distance from his residence. He can literally walk to the airport and hop on a plane.

God took something mundane, like planes and cars and roads and airways, and made them miraculous to us. And this does not go unnoticed each and every month.