Another trip to Alaska was my housemate’s dream. She had recently retired, and this was what she wanted to do to celebrate that retirement. To honor her, I reluctantly agreed. It was a trip of a lifetime, but I really did not want to go.

                  A major reason I did not want to go was the unknown. I had read up on preparing for trips to Alaska, but the veteran travelers kept telling me what I did not want to hear: Be prepared for anything, including the cold. In Texas, it was 107° F the day before we left. Although I figured it would be a lot cooler in Alaska, just how much cooler? That meant layering. And that meant packing everything from sleeveless blouses to overstuffed winter coats, hats, and gloves on top, and rain pants that would fit over leggings and/or jeans on the bottom. And don’t get me started on supplements and their restrictions! I was advised to add Wellies to my list, but I drew the line there, as I was already having a meltdown regarding the prospects of packing what I needed within the TSA limits.

                  Living in Texas, I am well-familiar with being prepared for any kind of weather. I have lived in 70° F with snow on the ground and a 48-degree July. So not knowing what the weather would bring from one moment to the next was not the problem. It was how to fit all my options inside a medium-sized suitcase and a TSA-qualified carry-on. In Texas, that “always be prepared” space was made up of closets, dressers, and chests of drawers, and in the case of the supplements, refrigerators – not two suitcases weighing less than 50 pounds.

                  But my seasoned-traveler housemate came to my packing rescue! Thank God for her! So I tried my best to look forward to the fun of flying the four-hour trip First Class from DFW to SeaTac. But this meant we had to leave the house at 4:00 AM!

                  I am not a morning person on a good day. Four o’clock in the morning is the time I often get up for a short interruption during the night, only to retire within two to three hours afterward. On this trip, however, there would be no returning to sleep for the next 12 hours, and I had already been up since 9:30 the previous day. But I wanted to soldier on.

                  It had been approximately 42 years since I had been to DFW for travel to anywhere. A lot of things had changed during those 42 years! Thankfully, some dear friends came to the rescue and picked us up, then helped us unload our luggage at the airport. So far, so good.

                  But then came the walking, the TSA PreCheck, the security check, and finding Door 19 to pick up a shuttle to carry us to parts unknown. The airport was undergoing more construction, so the times and places kept shuffling. One of the trams was down, so my housemate and I wound up standing, holding our respective carry-ons with one hand and a death grip on the hold-bar with our other. Young men kept their heads and eyes firmly affixed to their phones to avoid having to even think of surrendering their seats to a couple of senior ladies. Not that the thought actually occurred to them, but I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt.

                  The tram ride made me remember the scene in Indiana Jones of the giant round boulder barreling down twists and tight turns of a mountain. We were, in essence, riding inside of that boulder. I decided I didn’t want to watch the re-enactment of this movie, as I also remember what ultimately happened to the giant round rock.

                  The difference between Indy’s boulder and our tram, however, involved stops to add and disembark passengers, according to the gates they were seeking. On one such stop, a short, blunt-looking female safety officer boarded our tram and announced that it, too, was being taken offline for repairs, so we were to “leave now!’

                  What were we going to do? We complied, having no clue what was coming up next. I asked the question others didn’t voice: “So now both trams are broken?!”

                  Not to fear, we were back up and running in less than 30 minutes. Soon enough, we were at our gate destination. But then we were greeted with yet more lines. Oy!

                  As First-Class passengers, we were the second group to be called to board the plane. The first group was made up of people with disabilities. Technically, each of us could have claimed this as well, but we didn’t because we didn’t have to. Ooh, la, la! Right? So, how did all those other non-disabled looking people get seated before us? Oh, well.

                  The carry-ons went into the overhead compartments. Oh, my aching back! So where was First Class, already? I could hardly wait! What!? We’re there!? This was First Class?! Oy! I had no idea that in days’ past, I had ridden in far more spacious accommodations…in Main Cabin (back then it was called Coach)!

                  My housemate informed me that the two rows of two seats were two rows of three seats in Main Cabin. I watched the remaining passengers file past. These were normal American-sized people, not Lilliputians. I have absolutely no idea how they were able to squeeze in, but I now understand travel rage.

                  I looked over at my friend and said, “It is time to pray.” So we prayed. There was no travel rage. There were no bratty children in either First Class or Main Cabin. There were no bad guys trying to hijack the plane. We had a little turbulence, but nothing to turn our knuckles white. Our prayers were answered.

                  But this was only the first part of our journey. The remainder of that day reminded me of what it must have been like for Abram (later Abraham) to leave what was familiar to him and go to a land that God would show him.

                  Our Alaskan “Abrahamic journey” will continue with the next post: It Was a Trip of a Lifetime! But I Didn’t Even Want to Go – Part 2.