Insert Grace Here

It’s just after 4 p.m. and we’re back from our trip to New Orleans.  It’s official.  Trey’s gone.

HEAVY sigh.

I should’ve known when I woke up in pee again—NOT MINE but Sophie’s, in case you needed clarification—it was gonna’ be a long day.  Cammie and I went to bed after midnight.  And then I tossed and turned all night.  Apparently Trey’s father, Charles, did not get a good night’s sleep either.  But he drove us there anyway with only a printout of directions and no map.  We laughed and laughed about Cammie’s and Trey’s sense of direction.  And then we hit the bridge over the Mississippi and realized we missed our exit.

Not to worry, though.  Several one-way streets, one wrong way on a one-way street with a very panicked, very pregnant, heavy-sighing, “OH MY GOSH WE’RE GONNA’ DIE” woman and a sweet forever later . . . WE MADE IT TO MEPS IN NEW ORLEANS!  And then we saw Trey and it was all worth it.

We had discussed ahead of time—although not in an actual conversation, but rather on facebook—that I would drive us back in the likely event that Cammie and Charles would be overcome with emotion and distraught over Trey’s departure.  We further discussed—or rather, I mentioned on facebook—that perhaps our back-up in the event that I, too, should be distraught would simply be, Jesus, take the wheel.

We did not anticipate our need to call on Him in such desperation due to our passing our exit, becoming lost, several near misses including that wrong way turn on a one-way street, and Charles’ high speed pursuit of the MEPS vehicles on the way to the airport.

But not to worry.  We zigged and zagged through traffic faster than a speeding bullet.   I maintained a calm facade while making not one, but three phone calls to Verizon for the number to the Airport in hopes of gaining knowledge of how one might obtain a pass through security to see a loved one off to combat training.  After an endless chain of phone calls:  Verizon, the Heliport (WHAT?), Verizon, some unknown airport, Verizon, and FINALLY (insert Hallelujah chorus here) the Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans (suppose I should’ve been that specific with the operator), I was told that, “only ticketed passengers are allowed through security.” Throughout our perilous journey, Cammie mentioned numerous times that she did not remember the trip from MEPS to the airport taking so long when she went to basic training.

After several more near misses, multiple squeals from the pregnant woman, overcome with nausea and fear, we zoomed into the airport on two wheels with white knuckles clutching the passenger handles.  But, like a cruel joke, the MEPS vehicle did, in fact, arrive before us in spite of our record speed.

With Trey’s cell phone about to die, Cammie ended quickly his informative call to her stating that he was already there and questioning where we were with no time to ponder the how, why and where of our arrivals.

Emotion rose quickly as we panted our way to Trey.  With only minutes to spare before his flight arrived, we said our goodbyes.

Emotional Father & Son

Emotional Husband & Wife

Not Pictured: Emotional Mother-in-law & Son-in-law

And then we watched Trey head off through security.  That’s him in the white shirt.  Run, Forrest Trey, run!

With tears streaming, lumps growing in our throats, we hung our heads and held our wadded tissue and headed back to the car.  After a mumble or two about who would drive home, it was obvious to me that we were all wondering who would be the best choice.  I knew it was my duty as mother of the distraught new Bride to take on the responsibility.  And after all, I did voluntarily offer this service to the distraught father.

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, drop in blood-sugar due to starvation, or maybe the overwhelming anxiety at the thought of navigating the streets of New Orleans, but I did not rise to the occasion.

So Charles was once again in charge and took the wheel.  Motivated by our search for the Piccadilly that apparently left town sometime after Katrina, we did not focus on Charles’ driving skillz.  Instead we circled ’round and ’round in pursuit of comfort food until we found The Louisiana Purchase Kitchen.  It beckoned us with its charm.

Alas, a place of solace for our weary souls with an all you can eat buffet.  As we sat dining and laughing and discussing the timing of the baby’s birth, the faint sound of a familiar song played softly in the background.  “Listen,” Charles instructed.  There, in that quaint little place, Carrie Underwood’s voice was heard, “Jesus, take the wheel . . .”

We smiled and laughed and knew with certainty that He indeed wanted us to know that He was in control.  And then we finished eating and the reality that one of us would indeed have to take the wheel set in.

But not to worry.  God’s grace showed up like a good night’s sleep on clean sheets (WHERE did that simile come from? 😉 ).  That and Cammie likely could not bear the thought of riding the passenger side of her car with a distraught Charles behind the wheel.  I’m just not sure that would go as smoothly as his we better get where we’re going FAST or we’ll miss Trey driving.

So off we went with Cammie behind the wheel.  Very slowly.  Very cautiously.  Because she “doesn’t care what people think”.  After that wreck she was in, she is determined to drive very cautiously.  And besides, “you’re supposed to leave one car length between you and the person in front of you.”

So we poked along and arrived home safely, ending our journey long after Trey’s flight landed in Georgia.  And not once did I have to take the wheel.  Although at times we doubted and thought surely today would be the day we met our Maker, I am now convinced that  today, Jesus definitely took the wheel.