Mission Trip to Cuatro Ciénegas: Guardian Angels in Terminal B

Camino de San José: Lessons from Cuatro Ciénegas

What started as a simple flight to Mexico turned into missed connections, long walks through O’Hare, and conversations with strangers.

The trip was supposed to be simple.

A quick flight from Lincoln to Chicago, then on to Monterrey, Mexico to begin a weekend mission trip. Our church friends were already heading south. Warm sun, desert hikes, and a few days of service were waiting for us.

Instead, the day became a masterclass in missed connections.

Our first flight left late. When we landed in Chicago we were told to run. We did that awkward airport shuffle somewhere between walking and running, zig-zagging between travelers while dragging carry-ons and hope behind us. If you’ve ever tried rushing through O’Hare while pretending to be calm about it, you know the feeling. When we reached the gate, the plane was still there. But the door was closed and the jet bridge was pulling away.

My husband and I stood there in disbelief, catching our breath.

Next to us a young woman was standing at the gate staring at her phone, blinking back tears.

Her name was Brandi. She was traveling alone from Michigan to visit family in Mexico for the weekend. She had never been to Monterrey before.

When she realized she had missed her connection, the tears came quickly. She was texting her dad, worried she would have to pay $1,000 to rebook the flight or miss her visit entirely. The airport felt suddenly very large and very indifferent.

So we did what stranded travelers sometimes do. We stuck together.

We called United. We waited on hold for thirty minutes. Eventually a kind woman on the phone started piecing together new routes for us. At one point she booked us through Austin and Houston, but by the time we walked across the airport the seats had already been given away.

Crushed and sweaty, we started over.

For nearly ninety minutes we crisscrossed through O’Hare following the instructions of a voice on speakerphone while she tried to rebuild our itinerary. Concourse C, then E, then back to C again. By this point our step counters were thriving even if our travel plans were not.

Brandi stayed with us because she was unsure where to go or how to fix her ticket. We handed her the phone and the same agent found her a new plan too. Eventually our route became Indianapolis, then Houston, then Monterrey.

She kept thanking us like we had done something extraordinary. “You guys are my guardian angels,” she said.

Really we were just two frustrated travelers trying to figure out the same mess she was. While we waited in lines, I kept pulling up the trip itinerary on my phone, mentally cataloging everything we were already missing. The first few stops along the Camino de San José (The Way of St Joseph), dinner and introductions with our fellow pilgrims.

The FOMO was intense.

As we walked toward the next gate, Brandi’s phone battery died. Her charger was in her checked bag. We happened to have an extra one, so we handed it to her before we parted ways.

We hugged goodbye in the concourse and wished each other luck. I have no idea if she made it to Monterrey that night. I hope she did.

We did not. We spent the night near the Houston airport after paying more for the Uber ride than we did for the hotel room itself.

Two days later, on the Camino…

It wasn’t until two days later, when we finally joined the group on the Camino walk, that the realization fully hit me.

The Camino de San José has fourteen stations reflecting on moments in Joseph’s life. He is the patron saint of fathers, workers, and the quiet protector of families.

But maybe he’s also the patron saint of detours.

Joseph’s story was full of interrupted plans. He wanted a quiet life in Nazareth and instead received a message from an angel. He traveled to Bethlehem and found no room. He fled to Egypt in the middle of the night.

Again and again Joseph had to let go of the plan he expected and trust that God was still present in the path that opened instead.

Because of our travel delays, Dave and I had missed the first nine stations. I had spent most of Wednesday quietly sulking about that.

Suddenly those hours moving between concourses felt familiar. Each stop was a conversation, a decision, a moment of trust. Talking with strangers. Helping Brandi figure out her next steps. Sleeping for a few hours in Houston before starting again.

During Lent I had been praying a simple line from the Hallow app’s Pray40 challenge: Empty me. Fill me. Use me.

Sitting on the plane to Chicago earlier that day, when it became clear we might miss everything, I remember praying, “Jesus, use me wherever you need me. Even if we never make it to Mexico.”

Our first opportunity came before we left Chicago. Not on a mountainside, or in a village.

Maybe that’s the kind of moment St. Joseph understands best. Sometimes the mission field is exactly where you are standing. Even if it’s Terminal B at O’Hare.

For us, the Camino began long before we ever reached the trail.

This is part of a series about our mission trip to Cuatro Ciénegas, Mexico.
Next: Arriving When the Mission Has Already Started.