Please enjoy an overdue blog on how hard it can be to journey back the states…
I'll save you the pain of me posting what I look like today – but here's a quick description of what you're missing – I'm jet-lagged, crabby and look like I've been hit by the aging truck. After two full days of travel, beginning at 4 am in Managua, Nicaragua and finally ending (what felt like DAYS later) in Manila, Philippines – I find myself being consumed by under eye bags, wrinkles and mood swings. BUT per usual, God is good and I'm reminded once again how blessed I am by a VERY patient community of 50+ World Racers who love me even when all arrows point to DON'T.
SO. The past two travel days were a lot more difficult (and incredibly more humbling) than I ever imagined them to be…
I had my prideful face all prepared, as we landed first in the Atlanta airport and later in the LA airport for a stateside layover between Nicaragua and the Philippines. I was ready to passively judge others as their family, friends and boyfriends (insert pathetic face one makes while watching the opening narration scene of "Love Actually") flew across the US to spend only a few hours with their daughter, son, brother, sister, boyfriend or girlfriend who has been gone for three months. I'll admit it, the thoughts running through my mind included (but were not limited to) "wow, these people can't even make it through three months of the World Race without needing to see their friends and family – there's NO way they'll be able to make it through eight MORE months (weaklings)" or "Why would people spend that much money to fly in for only a few hours of anxious visiting – what a waste, it'll only make things harder (so selfish)."
BUT, in slaps Christ.
For it was my prideful self who was left standing in LAX painfully (and unattractively) trying to hold back teardrop after teardrop, as I watched and envied each reunion hug, every joyful kiss and so many overwhelming rolls of truly comfortable laughter. And even though I had told my family not to show up while I was stateside, I quickly found myself sifting through the crowds for a knee-heighted, ponytail wearing little Ruby (surrounded by six joyously crying adults).
Instead, God showed up, convicting me of how off base I'd been.
For it wasn't necessarily that they'd missed their families and friends so uncontrollably that they just HAD to fly them in for one more hug before eight more months of separation; but rather, it was a deep and earnest desire to SHARE face to face, with those they hold closest in all the world, the amazing change and growth God had brought into their lives ALREADY.
So later, as I heard beautiful reunion stories of parents' marriages being mended, baby nephews being brought back to life and boyfriends and girlfriends growing closer to the Lord, I finally FELT God; in that horribly lonely moment of missing my family more than ever, I SAW God at work; and, through tough conversations since – of squadmates missing out on birthdays, homecoming and everyday family traditions – I have HEARD God whispering love and comfort into our lives. A much needed reminder that sometimes, even though it's difficult and usually undesired, we need to be broken – and we need to feel alone. For it's in those moments when we are most clearly shown the overwhelming love of our Father.
God is moving and I'm finally noticing.
