Pauline married John last night, on a lovely Georgia plantation. We sat outside in white wooden chairs and they held hands under the gazebo. The ceremony was small and perfect, though a bit difficult to hear because of the rolling thunder. Nervous guests would jerk their heads up every few moments just to check to see if the rain had started yet. Sure enough, in between the rings and the kiss, the sky broke and water poured down. Amazingly, a tent had been set up for a wedding the next day, so we all dashed under it and surrounded the damp bride and groom. The laughter and love filled that billowing tent, and we whistled "Praise to the Lord" as they walked back down our human made aisle.
We danced all night, and ate apple crisp for dessert. Aside from the fact that my feet hate me, I'm deliciously happy with the whole event.
Today I should have been at the Atlanta airport all day. The people I stayed with could only take me to the airport in the morning. Since I'll be in airports for the next two days straight, I was not particularly excited about this plan, but thought perhaps the Lord had something for me there I did not know about. BUT, at the wedding, a wonderful couple from out of town heard about my plan and invited me to spend the day with them. I excitedly accepted, and so today, when I should have been sprawled out with my bags at the airport, I found myself instead laughing and talking and praying with Carol and Don, and then wandering around the Atlanta Art Museum, looking at Monet's water lillies. I sat in front of one of the paintings for almost a half an hour, shaking my head in wonder at the beauty Monet found, and at God's goodness to me allowing me to spend the afternoon this way. They dropped me at the airport after our excursions, where I encountered another round of fiascos, and where I was actually called a cow by an airport worker. I looked for the positive light in this comment, but finding none, decided to express my displeasure with my offender. He invited me to get over it, and seeing no other option, I turned around and walked to my gate.
There are so many stories to tell! This is a story of the Lord's provision, of tents and lilies and gardens so that Monet could paint them, and kind couples who would disrupt their afternoon in order to help me. I'm so thankful...
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
A turbulent start to a trip…
I was scheduled to leave yesterday (Wednesday) for a wedding in Atlanta for three days and leave straight from there to Ethiopia. The flight was delayed three hours due to weather, so at 6:30pm, when I would have been checking in, I found myself instead huddled in a restaurant with my mom, my dad, and my little sister, with no power, watching the violent winds of a nearby tornado tear through our hometown. (In a divine twist, we had chosen to eat sushi that night, perhaps the only type of food that requires no heat whatsoever. The Japanese chef just continued chopping raw fish, and we dined to small candles and battery operated lights stolen from the mens bathroom.)
We left after the worst of the storm passed to find our small town significantly beat up, and drove to the airport. My flight was scheduled to leave at 10:40, and my parents dropped me at the gate at 8:15. However, when I came in, no one was there. I felt my stomach twist a little, and asked the man at the counter where to check in for my flight. He informed me kindly but somewhat nonchalantly, that I had missed my flight and asked if I would like to reschedule. My jaw hit the ground. After much discussion, it turned out that I had NOT in fact missed my flight. The baggage check people left their posts at 8 for the day, and so I could not pass through security.
In my mind, I boldy asserted myself, asked for the manager, and demanded to be let behind the counter. In reality, my lip quivered a bit, a lump of tears stopped up my throat, and I picked up my cell phone to call my father. He came to my rescue, asserted himself to the point of me having to apologize to the management, and we went home with a boarding pass for 5:30 the next morning.
I went to bed at 11:30, and woke to my father’s voice at 3:30. At the sound of his brisk knock and “Goodmorningwakeupflightcomingmadecoffee,” I spent five minutes moaning and resenting him before rolling off the bed, picking myself up off the floor, and spilling myself into the bathroom sink, hoping that something came out clean and refreshed.
We drove to the airport to the cracks of lightening, and rolling thunderstorms all around us. We said we were thankful for an early flight, and for a moment, enjoyed a mutual silent fantasy in which lightening flees from planes and the rain carves out a path for their passage through the sky.
We pulled into the airport, hugged goodbye, and I checked in without much ado. I sat down and waited to be called to board. Eight hours, one hot chocolate, two protein bars, a major stomach ache, four crying toddlers, two seat changes, and one pooping Chihuahua (DID YOU KNOW THAT CHIHUAHUA'S CAN BE TAKEN AS CARRY-ONS?!) later, I found myself three rows away from this same seat.
The sky had had all the planes it could take for the moment, and fed up with the arrogance of flight plans, decided to show those metal birds who was boss. They quivered and stayed still in silent submission.
Twice our little bird invited us to attempt a breakaway. It tried to sneak off the runway without being noticed, humming and tiptoeing as only the sneakiest of planes can. We hushed and waited on the edge of our seats (that is an exaggeration. There is no room for hovering on the edge of seats in a tiny airplane unless you are a crying toddler, in which case you may hover anywhere you like as long as it keeps you happy and silent, as I learned from watching frazzled pleading mothers this morning) and waited for the plane to take off, but the sky caught us, slammed down some extra lightening and thunder as a warning, at which point our Boeing 747 turned and scurried down the runway to push us all back out into the airport. Passengers glared at the plane disgustedly from their seats in the waiting lounge. I was certain that one man, had he been forty years younger, would have literally kicked the plane in protest.
I frankly enjoyed the heck out of the whole scene. I switched seats somewhere in the mess to reunite two pre-teen sisters, and ended up sitting next to a couple who got engaged in an air balloon, who have the gift of story telling, and who happen to love the Lord. We talked about everything from missions to makeup and tried to outdo one another encouraging the pilots and flight attendants. They ended up giving us each those pin on wings for being such good passengers! We bore them with dignity, and offered to help steer if they should get tired. (Pictures to follow).
Eventually, we did make it out of the airport, and our little plane family cheered at take off and landing. I will not be back to DFW until July 25th, and am quite certain between now and then there will be at least one or two more stories to tell.
We left after the worst of the storm passed to find our small town significantly beat up, and drove to the airport. My flight was scheduled to leave at 10:40, and my parents dropped me at the gate at 8:15. However, when I came in, no one was there. I felt my stomach twist a little, and asked the man at the counter where to check in for my flight. He informed me kindly but somewhat nonchalantly, that I had missed my flight and asked if I would like to reschedule. My jaw hit the ground. After much discussion, it turned out that I had NOT in fact missed my flight. The baggage check people left their posts at 8 for the day, and so I could not pass through security.
In my mind, I boldy asserted myself, asked for the manager, and demanded to be let behind the counter. In reality, my lip quivered a bit, a lump of tears stopped up my throat, and I picked up my cell phone to call my father. He came to my rescue, asserted himself to the point of me having to apologize to the management, and we went home with a boarding pass for 5:30 the next morning.
I went to bed at 11:30, and woke to my father’s voice at 3:30. At the sound of his brisk knock and “Goodmorningwakeupflightcomingmadecoffee,” I spent five minutes moaning and resenting him before rolling off the bed, picking myself up off the floor, and spilling myself into the bathroom sink, hoping that something came out clean and refreshed.
We drove to the airport to the cracks of lightening, and rolling thunderstorms all around us. We said we were thankful for an early flight, and for a moment, enjoyed a mutual silent fantasy in which lightening flees from planes and the rain carves out a path for their passage through the sky.
We pulled into the airport, hugged goodbye, and I checked in without much ado. I sat down and waited to be called to board. Eight hours, one hot chocolate, two protein bars, a major stomach ache, four crying toddlers, two seat changes, and one pooping Chihuahua (DID YOU KNOW THAT CHIHUAHUA'S CAN BE TAKEN AS CARRY-ONS?!) later, I found myself three rows away from this same seat.
The sky had had all the planes it could take for the moment, and fed up with the arrogance of flight plans, decided to show those metal birds who was boss. They quivered and stayed still in silent submission.
Twice our little bird invited us to attempt a breakaway. It tried to sneak off the runway without being noticed, humming and tiptoeing as only the sneakiest of planes can. We hushed and waited on the edge of our seats (that is an exaggeration. There is no room for hovering on the edge of seats in a tiny airplane unless you are a crying toddler, in which case you may hover anywhere you like as long as it keeps you happy and silent, as I learned from watching frazzled pleading mothers this morning) and waited for the plane to take off, but the sky caught us, slammed down some extra lightening and thunder as a warning, at which point our Boeing 747 turned and scurried down the runway to push us all back out into the airport. Passengers glared at the plane disgustedly from their seats in the waiting lounge. I was certain that one man, had he been forty years younger, would have literally kicked the plane in protest.
I frankly enjoyed the heck out of the whole scene. I switched seats somewhere in the mess to reunite two pre-teen sisters, and ended up sitting next to a couple who got engaged in an air balloon, who have the gift of story telling, and who happen to love the Lord. We talked about everything from missions to makeup and tried to outdo one another encouraging the pilots and flight attendants. They ended up giving us each those pin on wings for being such good passengers! We bore them with dignity, and offered to help steer if they should get tired. (Pictures to follow).
Eventually, we did make it out of the airport, and our little plane family cheered at take off and landing. I will not be back to DFW until July 25th, and am quite certain between now and then there will be at least one or two more stories to tell.
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