It was a small thing, a tiny comment. But the reality of it sunk in deep.
Our fellowship of 32 already separated, most of the F-squad landed in London to part ways. As one of the last to deplane, I was surprised to see a young man waiting for me with a sign advertising he was the one to meet the flier going to Frankfurt. That was me! Because of my short layover and flight delay out of Kiev, this guy was here to ensure I made my connection on time.
As we rushed through the airport we kept passing small clumps of Racers, which I had to speed-hug and say farewell. I’m not one for goodbyes anyways, but the rushing made it even more poignant: I practically ran up to a bunch of Racers, shouting “fast fast fast hugs and goodbyes!”, getting in about eight of them before rushing off again.
So the guy escorting me seemed to notice something a little different.
“You’re quite popular, eh?” he asked.
I laughed to myself as I looked down at my dirty jeans and flip-flopping feet rushing down the shiny London airport hallways.
“Well they’re more like family,” I said. “We just finished traveling together for eleven months.”
He asked where we’d been; I told him, receiving the expected “wow.” Then a question: “Well that must have cost a pretty bit?”
“Well, we lived in tents in Africa to save money, and we often stayed in the homes of contacts of ours, Christian pastors and people like that,” I explained. “We ate a lot of rice and potatoes, cheap foods, so we didn’t spend much on food.”
Funny thing was, that was about all I had time for before going through baggage security and rushing to the gate. That was about all he heard of the World Race.
But he saw that spark of love as I said farewell to my World Race family.
