Chicago Union Station

Union station in Chicago is intimidating to the first time visitor. The trains pull up and stop in an underground labryinth of rails and cement walkways. We alighted from the train and asked for directions, and set out walking. It felt like quite a long ways to go, but in reality, probably was 2 or 3 city blocks. We finally found the passenger entrance, and there we were, two of a throng of people. We waited in a line to use the restroom and developed a plan. Our breakfast guests had told us that for lunch, we could simply go upstairs at Union Station and find all manner of food, so, hauling our luggage, we followed the Food Court signs to escalators going up. Because several trains had disembarked passengers, the Food Court was packed with people. People everywhere, milling around, hawking merchandise, eating while on the run. The noise was deafening. We finally found a table and two chairs and I went in search of lunch, leaving Rebekah with the luggage.

Those of you who know me know that I have absolutely no directional sense whatsoever. If I don't pay particular attention to gate numbers, parking lot rows, or entrances, I can easily get turned around and become lost. Walking away from our table in that unfamiliar place, with a million and three people around, while keeping my bearings was quite a challenge-I had to mentally note exactly where I was going and what I was walking past. I found a little sandwich shop around the corner and ordered. On the way back, I missed a landmark and walked way past the corner she was in, but had the sense to turn around and retrace my steps. Thankfully, she was wearing a bright red overcoat, so I spotted her in the sea of faces.

We ate, and since our connecting train was leaving at 6:00, decided we needed to find our gate. We waited in line at the Amtrak Information desk, and a friendly woman told us we needed to get new tickets, as I had called and changed our destination from Ann Arbor to Jackson. We waited in another longer line to get replacement tickets, all the while, dragging our luggage along. Finally we were set to go to the waiting area, and by the time we got there, there was no place to sit. People were crammed wall to wall, and I realized that there were many trains departing from this particular gate-not only Amtrak trains, but Chicago communter metro trains. Trying to listen to garbled announcements over the loud speaker was exasperating, plus, we were already nervous about once again trying to haul our luggage aboard the train heading for Jackson.

Faith is the victory! I reminded Rebekah that God had provided two people to help us earlier in the day, and that we would make it just fine. My words were comforting, my stomach was in knots and my heart was pounding.

Finally, we heard the call for train # 354 to Jackson, and got toward the end of a very long line, inching our way forward. "Please have your tickets and picture ID ready." Exhausted and nervous, we headed out the gate and walked toward our waiting train. Here we go! Up, up, and up. Three normal sized steps and we're done. We looked around, amazed. This is not a Superliner, there's only one level of train here. And it's a newer model. There's a place right there to put our luggage.

Gratefully we find our seats. Suddenly our spirits lift, and we're on the way to Jackson. After a pleasant 4 hours, we're there, and Max meets us at the Jackson train station. We're right on time and he's right on time. He calls to us and we drag everything over to him. "Whaddya got in here, BRICKS?" he says as he lifts our luggage into the car. "Yes," we say, "BRICKS! We brought BRICKS to Michigan!"