Tuesday, December 29, 2015

The Trip Home

"Please, celebrate me home,
Give me a number,
Please, celebrate me home
Play me one more song,
That I'll always remember,
And I can recall,
Whenever I find myself too all alone,
I can sing me home"

 - Celebrate Me Home, by Kenny Loggins 

Boarding was supposed to begin at 12:30 am, the flight scheduled for take-off by 12:55 am. As I stood in line I shifted under the weight of my backpack. From behind the check-in desk, a man leaned towards a microphone and made an announcement.
"The plane is undergoing an inspection. We are told it will be about another thirty minutes before you can board."
Around me, people groaned. I sat and read over the outline of a 'speech' I'd written for the next day, answers to interview questions I looked forward to presenting. I rewrote parts, memorizing it. Tiredness pressed on me, but also hunger. Finally I got up and bought a bag of peanuts. I sat and watched the front desk, watched people come from the plane with clipboards and confer with the stewardesses, as I ate peanuts methodically, two at a time. We finally boarded by 2:00 am.

I slept, if you can call it that. Around 3:30 am, dinner was served. I ate my tray of chicken and rice and salad and called it breakfast.

In Houston, I made my way through Immigration, my eyes blurry with sleep behind my glasses. "Please go to Customer Service," I was told. There I waited in line with a number of other people who had missed their connection. I had barely missed it, at that. Sadness swept over me, for I knew I would miss the window for the "Team Talk" interview, unless I managed to arrive before lunch was over. I received my new ticket and hurried through the inspection of my bags. I made it to the gate 15 minutes before boarding, enough time to take out my contacts and wash my face in a bathroom sink. I opened up Skype on my iPhone and called the man at the taxi service with whom I had arranged a pick-up. I informed him of my new arrival time before standing in line and boarding the plane. I spent the flight reviewing my speech and reading "Catch 22". Finally in Chicago, I collected my bags and tried to call the taxi guy. But my phone refused to connect to the internet, no matter what I did. Hauling about 130 pounds of luggage with me, I walked and walked until I found a payphone, strangely placed behind a huge flight chart, skeevily out of sight. When my quarters fell straight through the phone, I realized that though they are US currency, they were printed in Ecuador and are just different enough as to not be electronically recognized. I scraped up enough dimes and nickels to make the call. The phone rang and rang without answer, and without the option to leave a message. Frustrated, I hauled my bags awkwardly to a Starbucks counter and asked if they could give me change for a dollar. Back at the phones I deposited another fifty cents ... for nothing. I called the ITeams office but was told it was a bad number and received my change back. I walked outside and scanned the waiting taxis but none had the right insignia. By now I was both swearing and fighting back tears.

I sat and opened my laptop. Of course, Skype refused to load until I had restarted everything and let it update itself. Meanwhile I had only 30 minutes of allotted free internet before I'd have to pay, and it was quickly slipping away. All I wanted was to burst into tears, and I was afraid that when/if I finally did get a taxi, I would do just that. So I told myself to stop, to be strong even in this foolish time of frustration over being stranded and alone. Finally, Skype started up and I was able to call the taxi guy. When I met up with the taxi driver, he was annoyed at having to wait so long.
"I called you twice on a pay phone," I said. I still don't know if he never saw the calls or if they never went through.

When I arrived at the ITeams office and was shown to my apartment, I dropped to the floor in front of my suitcases the moment I was alone. I dug around until I found a snack bar, which I inhaled. It was 2:00 pm and I hadn't eaten since being on the first airplane. I gulped down a glass of water, marveling at how strange it was to be able to drink straight from the tap without purifying it or being afraid of getting sick. When I felt better, I walked across the hall and knocked on the door of the Snyder family. On my own door was a drawing from their young daughters, and a note inviting me to dinner. The moment I saw them, everything was a little bit better. We had met three years ago in that very building as I was preparing to go to Ecuador and they were starting the process of fundraising and moving to Spain. They had been going through an arduous visa process and were finally approved to fly out Christmas day. We had kept up via email, so getting to see them again was a delight. We hugged and talked before I went back to my room to rest. That night I went over and ate chicken casserole and berry cobbler as we talked and talked. They asked me about Ecuador and culture shock and language learning and what was the best and hardest things about living there. I asked them about how they envisioned life in Spain and the ministry and school for their girls and how the whole process of getting there has been long and tiring but good. We each wanted to know everything, because they and I have been on similar journeys with aspects which can be difficult for others to understand. Their girls drew me a picture and we reminisced about playing in the snow together three years ago, the first time I been in real snow.

The trip was all so mostly awful yet ended so well. Being back in the States feels strange at first: familiar but different. Seeing friends from a specific time and place helped me focus and not be overwhelmed, and was a beautiful welcome. When I flew home to Texas two days later, I was more ready than ever to see my family. We hugged and talked and ate Mexican food together. After a long trip, it was so good to be home.

Wednesday, December 23, 2015


"Sometimes, I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear
And I can't help but ask myself how much I'll let the fear
Take the wheel and steer

Whatever tomorrow brings
I'll be there with open arms and open eyes

Whatever tomorrow brings
I'll be there, I'll be there"

- Drive, by Incubus

I was nervous about driving. I’m back in Texas – visiting - after two years of working in Ecuador. I flew back once during that time for a wedding, so in all, it was a year and eight months since I saw my beloved family, my beloved Texas, and since I drove a car or saw a real sunset. I renewed my driver’s license and picked up the car some friends are generously loaning me. My first trip was careful, cautious. I’ve walked and relied on buses, taxis, and friends for the whole time I’ve been in Ecuador. But soon, I was reminded of this fact: I love driving. 

I think it’s the freedom and control that I love. The act of deciding and going and having my own space to sing and think and be. I drove, yet I also thought of my bad driving experiences, like rear-ending someone and being rear-ended. I thought about the cold, dark, early morning when I went around a corner and hit a patch of ice. My car spun, nothing but dark shapes moving past the windshield, before I hit a tree and fence. I sat in shock, headlights fixed on the tree and part of the road. I got out, saying, “No, no,” before seeing the smashed bumper. Alone in the middle of a dark country road, I turned and ran. I ran maybe three dozen yards before turning and running back towards those forlorn headlights. I bent in half and cried. Then I called my Mom and drove the poor car home. 

I thought about that experience because I knew that as much as I might feel in control behind the wheel, things can change in a single moment. I thought about this while driving in one of my favorite places: a long road which passes through a stretch of open country which will one future day likely be transformed into suburbs and shopping centers, yet for now holds spreading pastures and lone farmhouses. I looked at the fields and woods and gentle hills rolling out before me on every side, and at the huge sky which was turning orange with the setting sun, and felt a swell of love for the place I’m from. I always want to love the place I’m in and be able to see the beauty in everything possible. This returning makes my Texas more dear, more appreciated and treasured, just as the time away from Ecuador will make it a little dearer when I return. In all truth, I have two homes right now: the place I’ve been called to work in and in which I’ve established a home and life, and the place which shaped and grew me and which I know I can always return to. Of course more than just a place, home is family and friends in Texas and calling and friends in Ecuador. 

I drove, rolling down the window so I could breathe the fresh country air. I drove, in control for the moment, but knowing that could change in a moment. Maybe control is nothing more than an illusion. Maybe that’s disquieting, or maybe it’s comforting. I will choose comforting. I choose to let God be in control, since He is whether I like it or not, and since listening to His calling is much better than trying to drown it out with my own earthly desires, like a child throwing a fit. Unfurl the road ahead. Light the way. With help, and the occasional crash and run and starting again, I’ll do my best to follow. 

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Verses In Progress

Later, I'll need to write about this week, and the death that touched everyone here in the missions community I'm a part of. Until then, I found some bits of verses that were started and aren't yet ready to be finished. This week, a life - a story - ended, though everyone else's stories are still in progress. 

City lights, so beautiful
The lives they represent
The progress and the hoping and the change

Still, I long to turn them off,
Every now and then to see
The stars and moon and planets in their range

Chase after solace
Find peace in the silence
Alone I must go,
Till together we’ll know
What to hold to so tightly
And what to let go

A rasping melody
is still musical
Even if it’s not music
A doubtful hope
is still optimism
Even if it holds doubt
So may we look for the lovely
in the midst of the mess
And have the faith to still proclaim it good

You’re more than just a body
an idea, or a name
More than a set of fingerprints
or something one can tame

No DNA or code of cells
writes up what’s all of you
Splendiferous, mysterious
comes close to what is true