It was early January, 1983. I had taken a small group of students from the small New England college where I was teaching to Belize for a two week introductory course in tropical biology. There were two girls (a freshman Chemistry major and her sister-in-law, who had come to chaperone) and five guys (all upper-division Biology majors). We were to spend a week in the rain forest, and a week studying th
e coral reef offshore. With the exceptionof Sister-in-law and
one fellow from up-state eastern New York, all had a fair amount of experience traveling. Belize, I should point out, had just recently received independence from Great Britain, and was one of the poorer countries in Central and South America.
one fellow from up-state eastern New York, all had a fair amount of experience traveling. Belize, I should point out, had just recently received independence from Great Britain, and was one of the poorer countries in Central and South America.
The fairly primitive third-world conditions (especially in the rain-forest did not set well with Sister-in-law, and the only thing that really kept her from jumping ship was that if she went, her younger charge would also have to leave. Chemistry was having the time of her life. New York seemed to be doing Ok, although his eyes often looked like those of a deer caught in headlights. Overall, I judged the trip to have been a success and a positive experience for each until the day to leave.
I had organized the trip through an outfitter located just outside Boston. He had taken care of transportation needs, hotels, meals, boats and guides. As it turned out, it was to our good fortune that he happened to be at the same hotel the day we were to leave Belize for home.
It is about a four hour drive from the town we were in (Dangriga) to Belize City, where the international airport is. Our flight was to leave at 11:30 for Miami where we had connections to Boston. We were to be picked up at the hotel by bus at 5:30 am. This would put us into the airport at 9:30, with plenty of time to check in. So at 5:10, I had everyone outside the hotel with the luggage, waiting for the bus to come. When the bus had not come by 6:00, I began to worry.
At 6:30, I went to the hotel room of our outfitter, and knocked. “What are you doing here?” was his sleepy greeting. Of course, in return I replied, “That’s what we’d like to know.” After some words not used in the Musings, and some cogitation on his part, he told me to get my group into the hotel dining room for some breakfast, and he’d look into matters.
As we were eating, he came in and said that a charter airplane would be at the hotel’s landing strip at 9:30. Seems that the hotel owner’s brother owned Maya Air, the “major” airline of Belize, and a plane was being dispatched for us. Considering it only takes 20 minutes from Dangriga to the international airport by plane, we were satisfied, finished our breakfast, and headed for the airstrip.
9:30 came. So did 9:45. Then 10:00. I ran back to the hotel to confirm that a plane was coming. Fully assured, I went back to the airstrip just as a plane came into view. But when it landed, we found it wasn’t our charter. It was nothing but a regularly scheduled flight that had room for only four, not the eight of us with all our gear. One of the guys played trumpet with a touring youth orchestra, and needed to be in Southern California the next day and was an experienced world-traveler. I put him on the plane. I needed to get the two girls out of the country before Sister-in-law came unglued. That left one seat. I took it. I mean, how could I lead if I stayed behind? Thus, I left four of my guys stranded in Dangriga until the next plane, and headed for Belize City.
When we reached the international airport, I checked in the three students I had with me for the flights, and patiently tried to prolong the departure of our plane, wondering where the other four students were. Finally, the airline personnel told me they had to send the flight. They had held it an extra 15 minutes the way it was. I had no idea what had happened to the rest of my group. The plane left the gate and began taxiing down the runway for takeoff. Just then, four huffing and puffing college students with back packs, scuba gear and a strong desire to be on that plane came running in the front door. Too late! Their charter had landed at the city airport, not the international airport, and they had had to take a 20-minute taxi ride from one side of the city to the other. So there we were, four students plus a professor, with $40 in my pocket. Theirs were empty.
Three of the guys took it fairly well. New York, however, had trouble dealing with the idea that he couldn’t leave the country. His face turned red and he began hyperventilating, gasping; tears welled up in his eyes, and he just stood there saying, over and over again, “That’s my plane! That’s my plane!” He had been left behind. He expressed anger, fear, depression, even despair.
The scriptures describe in several places the response of those who’ve not prepared to meet the Lord when He comes. Some can’t believe they’re not to be included, and try to point to their many “good” works. Some cry for the rocks and mountains to fall on them, because they can’t bear to see the face of the Redeemer they’ve rejected. Some turn on those they’d been trusting as their guides who didn’t know how or where to lead. In a small measure, I saw it all in the face of my student that day 20-plus years ago. It wasn’t pleasant. It sure would have been better to be on that plane. Likewise, it will be a whole lot better to be going with our Lord. May you have that necessary relationship daily so your flight is confirmed and you’re all set to go.
Wait a minute. Where did I leave my boarding pass?
Dr. G
I had organized the trip through an outfitter located just outside Boston. He had taken care of transportation needs, hotels, meals, boats and guides. As it turned out, it was to our good fortune that he happened to be at the same hotel the day we were to leave Belize for home.
It is about a four hour drive from the town we were in (Dangriga) to Belize City, where the international airport is. Our flight was to leave at 11:30 for Miami where we had connections to Boston. We were to be picked up at the hotel by bus at 5:30 am. This would put us into the airport at 9:30, with plenty of time to check in. So at 5:10, I had everyone outside the hotel with the luggage, waiting for the bus to come. When the bus had not come by 6:00, I began to worry.
At 6:30, I went to the hotel room of our outfitter, and knocked. “What are you doing here?” was his sleepy greeting. Of course, in return I replied, “That’s what we’d like to know.” After some words not used in the Musings, and some cogitation on his part, he told me to get my group into the hotel dining room for some breakfast, and he’d look into matters.
As we were eating, he came in and said that a charter airplane would be at the hotel’s landing strip at 9:30. Seems that the hotel owner’s brother owned Maya Air, the “major” airline of Belize, and a plane was being dispatched for us. Considering it only takes 20 minutes from Dangriga to the international airport by plane, we were satisfied, finished our breakfast, and headed for the airstrip.
9:30 came. So did 9:45. Then 10:00. I ran back to the hotel to confirm that a plane was coming. Fully assured, I went back to the airstrip just as a plane came into view. But when it landed, we found it wasn’t our charter. It was nothing but a regularly scheduled flight that had room for only four, not the eight of us with all our gear. One of the guys played trumpet with a touring youth orchestra, and needed to be in Southern California the next day and was an experienced world-traveler. I put him on the plane. I needed to get the two girls out of the country before Sister-in-law came unglued. That left one seat. I took it. I mean, how could I lead if I stayed behind? Thus, I left four of my guys stranded in Dangriga until the next plane, and headed for Belize City.When we reached the international airport, I checked in the three students I had with me for the flights, and patiently tried to prolong the departure of our plane, wondering where the other four students were. Finally, the airline personnel told me they had to send the flight. They had held it an extra 15 minutes the way it was. I had no idea what had happened to the rest of my group. The plane left the gate and began taxiing down the runway for takeoff. Just then, four huffing and puffing college students with back packs, scuba gear and a strong desire to be on that plane came running in the front door. Too late! Their charter had landed at the city airport, not the international airport, and they had had to take a 20-minute taxi ride from one side of the city to the other. So there we were, four students plus a professor, with $40 in my pocket. Theirs were empty.
Three of the guys took it fairly well. New York, however, had trouble dealing with the idea that he couldn’t leave the country. His face turned red and he began hyperventilating, gasping; tears welled up in his eyes, and he just stood there saying, over and over again, “That’s my plane! That’s my plane!” He had been left behind. He expressed anger, fear, depression, even despair.
The scriptures describe in several places the response of those who’ve not prepared to meet the Lord when He comes. Some can’t believe they’re not to be included, and try to point to their many “good” works. Some cry for the rocks and mountains to fall on them, because they can’t bear to see the face of the Redeemer they’ve rejected. Some turn on those they’d been trusting as their guides who didn’t know how or where to lead. In a small measure, I saw it all in the face of my student that day 20-plus years ago. It wasn’t pleasant. It sure would have been better to be on that plane. Likewise, it will be a whole lot better to be going with our Lord. May you have that necessary relationship daily so your flight is confirmed and you’re all set to go.
Wait a minute. Where did I leave my boarding pass?
Dr. G
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