I have always written and enjoyed it as a form of decompression and processing. Sometimes I can say better in writing what makes sense in my head but gets lost on the way to my mouth. Though I am making the electronic transition as I explore new ways to share the Gospel, I still enjoy the feeling of a pen and paper. It seems a bit more permanent, something to take along for the ride or share in the future. Handwriting can be an even more intimate way of connecting with someone's thoughts, fossils from another era of a life. This is an excerpt from my print journal, written during the long day of travel from Baltimore to London to Nairobi.
January 22, 2014
(referring to my carry-on containing camera, lenses, etc. having to be checked at Heathrow after it had made it across the Pond just fine on the previous airplane)
"When I bump against the constraints of materialism, worrying about "needing" things, and other challenges, a bright part of me shouts for joy at the prospect of difficulties, the certainty of growth. "One challenge down, only a million to go!" this little fellow seems to exclaim. My faith is not based on things here, that fail and break. I am reminded that, while there can be great consternation in seemingly being robbed of one's expensive, fragile and "necessary" possessions (that aren't even yours), such matters are out of my control once they have occurred. There is peace interspersed among the conflict. There is certainty above, not below.
I am reminded that I am here right now partially because I wanted a challenge, something new. Probably even something "not easy" and even "unexpected," and this elicits a guilty smile. Guilty me? Heavens, yes. "And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose" (Romans 8:28), and "if God is for us, who can be against us?" (Romans 8:31) A better man than I, made better by his own blessed struggles, forgiveness, and growth as directed by God, gave me these passages from His Word to share. So I shall hold onto them, just as surely as I shall (and must) cling to the grace and salvation offered me by Jesus Christ, who gave it to me freely, fully knowing I would never be able to repay Him or be worthy of His actions and presence in my life.
It is too short a life to hurt for cameras, cords, and computers, especially when they are beyond my control. I expected God to give me at least one test, though I did not ask for it. I will wait to see what He grants me and accordingly directs in my life and work. But isn't it enough to be alive, healthy, whole, and as happy as possible in Heathrow Airport while I wait for my Lord's guidance? I am very inclined to think so.
It's strange to ponder modern travel. In a matter of mere hours, home and pop! eight hours' difference. It's equally as strange to arrive at the same conclusion regarding writing. Blank page to scribbled blotter. It seems to me there would be a more rational process, but perhaps that is why it can be be intimidating. It doesn't make good sense, yet there it is persisting, no less. The more nonsensical it becomes, the longer it persists. Or that's vice versa?
It is exceedingly difficult to focus on any one given thing at any point in time right now. I feel as though I have the attention span of a gnat, the only other option I am capable of focusing on is sleeping, and I shouldn't butcher my body clock any worse than it already has been.
I will say that the scenery has been nice so far- France, some of the Alps, the Mediterranean, and some vast and textured deserts. They do not look like Western deserts because they are browner, which may have something to do with the former presence of tropical rainforests in Saharan Africa. I recall those being mostly from Libya into Sudan. Since then, it's been too cloudy to get a good look, probably due to the angle of the sinking red sun. It's 7:05 p.m. in Nairobi, with just three hours left on the flight. I honestly feel more anxious now than I did before, thinking of the culmination of this travel, work, and prayer, and perhaps even slightly from the notion of my bags cut free somewhere outside of my understanding.
