Erin Wareham

I’m sitting on the couch in the apartment my new husband and I share as I write this. On the top shelf of the built-ins in our living room is a piece of driftwood. While living as a missionary in the Dominican Republic, you might say one of my COVID-19 hobbies became painting driftwood. Interesting specimens litter any beach, and it was a simple, inexpensive hobby that fostered community while yielding practical pieces I could display around my home.

Travel exhilarates me. Airport people-watching is a pastime. Hmmm, that’s an interesting outfit. Why is she in such a hurry? Scanning the departure board for my own gate number, I ponder why my fellow travelers are going to Bogotá or Missoula or Queenstown. I flew for the first time before my first birthday, and my current role as an LCMS missionary has made me the kind of jet-setter who has a laminated packing list. Sure, I’ve dealt with my share of lost bags, crew time-outs, and comped hotel rooms, but thankfully, I have relatively few travel horror stories. Nevertheless, travel, especially air travel, calls for a certain degree of letting go; I’m powerless to incentivize a grounded—or MIA—plane to take off on time … or ever.