Written: 2/26/2014 – 1700H
Random blog here, did not expect to have another one ready so soon, but when they come, I write. I'm sitting in the international airport in Frankfurt, Germany. It is night, the air is cool and it is sprinkling rain. My squad is waiting for a couple hours before boarding another flight which will take us to Warsaw, Poland for an overnight layover. There have been times in the past when I would get frustrated and stressed out to fly or travel. Not today, as I'm overcome with an strange sense of joy.
Earlier today, we were about 30 minutes away from Frankfurt and starting our final approach. For the entire 8 hours up until this point, I was looking down over Northern Africa, Egypt, the Mediterranean Sea, Greece, the Carpathian Mountains. The plane was submerging down into the clouds, which were like a thick blanket over the city. As we descended, thin, airy clouds passed overhead. It was like a thin white sheet was being pulled over our heads. I wish I could have rolled down the window, reached out my arm and just touch the wisps with my hand. I was looking up. I was smiling. I was overcome with a joy, a delight, a peace, like a kid with his nose pressed against the car window as he pulls into the parking lot of an amusement park. I had awoken to the sunrise in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia and was about to land in Frankfurt, Germany… and out of nowhere I was filled with whimsy.
This is the second time something like this has happened since coming onto the mission field.
The first time this occurred was during a long bus ride between Lusaka, Zambia and Livingstone to see the Victoria Falls. It was the middle of the night, the bus was barreling down the narrow highway and it was hot and stuffy in the cabin. I opened my widow wide and hung my head out like I was a dog, wind blowing my hair back and was strong enough to make my eyes water. But the night air was cool. I was sitting near the back of the bus and the taillights illuminated the tall grass and trees and we sped by. The sky drew my attention. A storm could be seen behind us in the distance, and bright flashes of lightening lit up the clouds brightly. Despite the storm, the sky was crystal clear. The stars could be seen shining brightly and the magnificence of the Milky Way was on full display. You had to be there to truly appreciate the scene, my camera or any other gadgets unable to capture or even comprehend the moment. But once again, out of nowhere, this unexpected, huge smile appears on my face. I'm emersed in the majesty of a God who loves me completely, and this knowledge of a loving God comes simply through the experience of Jesus in a real and tangible touch of His love and wonder. I'm looking up, and I'm in awe.
I'm a naturalist. Simply put: I experience God most readily through nature. More often than not, the pictures in my blogs are of nature. A sky, a tornado of flies, a sunset, you name it. In both of these awestruck moments, I'm looking out at the majesty of nature and I'm overcome. But the funny thing is that these experiences are new, not quite like any other vivid moment in nature I've had before. There's something new now. I think a lot of it has to do with the World Race in general: I'm in new places, seeing new things, smelling new smells, living in new places, emersed in new cultures. Everything about this year is new. I'm overcome by the existential realization of my life and how it has changed and what it looks like now, how God has shaped and molded and guided my life to where I am now. And I can't help but think: Wow, Jesus loves me. I think it's that moment that I look out into the world and get a huge, cheesy grin on my face. I smile at the life of whimsy that I live now. I've said yes to adventure and the littler things. I've chosen joy over discomfort. I'm taking risks. Even at 40,000 feet, in a Boeing 787 flying at 800 some odd miles and hour, I find myself looking up in sheer awe at the wonders of God and His love for me. I smile in delight because of all He's done for me and that He continues to do.
Keep Looking Up.
