Overwhelming.
It is overwhelming to type a blog from Washington, D.C., two days into launch, 26 hours away from getting on a plane to Ecuador.
It is overwhelming to write about the last week of my life, to take in everything that has already happened before the WR even officially started.
It is overwhelming that I've said all of my goodbyes, that I'm finally packed, that I won't know much familiar for the next 11 months looming in front of me, that whether I like it or not, I'm doing the World Race… starting now.
Overwhelming.
Part of me is paralyzed, frozen by the surreal reality that surrounds me, unable to process all of the information, unable to fully comprehend what I've gotten myself into. Another part of me is like a child on Christmas Eve, soaked through to the bone with expectation and anticipation, excitement and eagerness. I don't know that I had fully grasped what was before me until Mom, Dad and I flew to Washington last Friday night. As we taxied to the runway in our airplane in Atlanta, God reminded me that overwhelming would become my new normal for the next season of my life.
As the pilot announced that we were third in line for takeoff, the Ghanaian man behind me began shuffling about nervously. He asked the man behind him to identify the seat he was assigned and, though his row was completely empty, frantically moved to the aisle seat from the window and profusely thanked the man behind him, "God bless"ing him as he struggled to buckle his seatbelt. So as not to leave the rest of us out, he gave up on the seatbelt, stood from his newfound aisle seat and declared loudly to everyone, "God bless everyone on this plane! My name is Isaac." After an understandably awkward, eyebrow-cocked pause someone blessed him back, to which he answered his name was not Isaac, but Rafael. Everyone was visibly confused as he took his seat and continued to excessively fidget with the papers and book in his hands. He was mumbling what sounded like prayers in another language intermingled with things like, "We are all forgiven" and "Thou shalt not kill," strangely religious things that no one on a plane in America is comfortable hearing, especially on a plane headed to the nation's capital.
Peacemaker and terrified-flyer that I am, I turned and gently asked if he was alright, if he didn't enjoy flying or something, looking to establish common ground and calm him down (selfishly so that I could calm down, too). I was met by gigantic white eyeballs and silence. I gave up and began to pray out my window, planning my strategy in my head for when he stood up with his weapon to take over the plane.
I'll jump on his back and get him in a chokehold where he can't reach me if he faces the back of the plane. If he takes me hostage, I'll wait for the right moment and S.I.N.G. like Gracie Lou Freebush in Miss Congeniality! Or just try to break his nose. Yeah, yeah I'll pop his nose and make that thing bleed, then tackle him and wait for the Air Marshall to arrest him while I sit triumphantly on his back pinning him to the ground.
I was aroused from my internal action film by more of Isaac/Rafael's exclamations. He could not turn off his cell phone. He was clamoring for anyone around to turn off the phone, going so far as to say, "We must take the battery out of this phone to save our lives!!" at full voice. At this point everyone on the plane had had enough and begun to yell back at him, and the situation only grew more chaotic by the second. I slid back over to the aisle and calmly asked if I could see his phone to shut it off. When I reached for it from his violently shaking hands, he looked and me with savage, wild eyes and asked my name, withdrawing so I couldn't touch him. He mistook my name for Mary but smiled, said "Hello Mary!", and handed over the Nokia. I was sweaty-palmed and shaking at this point, so when I fumbled on the keys of the unfamiliar device, he was again dissatisfied and took it back, shouting again about needing to turn it off and take the battery out.
Keep in mind the plane is going to take off any second now and there's a non-American guy yelling about a phone battery saving our lives on a plane to the place where the president lives. People were panicking.
I finally snatched the phone from him, fed up and about to throw up, and managed to shut it off. Just at that moment the flight attendant ran up to the scene and demanded to see the cell phone and know what was going on, but Isaac would have none of that. He swore that everything was fine, that there was nothing wrong, and would not relinquish the phone. At that point another attendant went to the pilot's cabin to warn them. The first attendant reluctantly began to walk off, but I tugged her shirt and told her that it was not okay, that no one was comfortable and that he needed to be watched very closely. Many people were saying the same thing.
Thankfully, the pilot came over the intercom seconds later and said we were headed back to the gate to allow security onboard because of a disturbance in the back. After clamoring to the passenger across the aisle about "calling the White House for protection" and telling the flight attendant that he could "see things, like the all-seeing eye of God," security very quickly escorted Isaac off the plane and we never saw him again. We did see three bomb dogs and many officials searching our plane after we were made to de-plane. About two hours after scheduled takeoff, we headed on to D.C. with no one in the row behind me.
Overwhelming. (Though I do feel like I can fly a little more confidently now.)
I spent a few wonderful days touring the capital with Mom and Dad. I felt so blessed to have the opportunity to spend a few intimate days with two wonderful people, to laugh and enjoy their corny jokes and their fascination with history and modern technology, to receive a bit more of their counsel, to soak up the last few minutes that I'll have with them until next Christmas. It was the best few days we've had together and it was a memory that I'll treasure forever.
Overwhelming.
Then, launch. Seeing my friends I've been talking to since October. Hugging their real necks, hearing their real laughs, having new opportunities to make more memories. Knowing that they are my reality for the next year.
Overwhelming.
And finally, seeing God begin to peel back the layers I've been so eagerly praying about for the last months. Seeing skin on the voices that will be God's voice to me over the next year. Hearing the feedback that will call me into greatness. Beginning to come into agreement with God about some blind spots that need work in my life. Seeing my internal self more ugly and wretched than ever. Knowing that I'm loved anyway.
Overwhelming.
The next year will be overwhelming.
That doesn't have to be bad.
When things are overwhelming it only means that there's abundance. There might be chaos, there might be joy, there might frustration, there might be confusion… but abundance is always a gift. It's material to work with. It's something to sort out. It's stuff to pray through. It's a full plate of a lot of different things that may not seem to go together or even be related.
I can't think of anything that better describes what is confronting me as we leave for Carapungo, Ecuador tomorrow at 3:30 PM. An abundance of things to work on, to do, to improve on, to grow in, to experience, to feel, to think, to process.
Overwhelming.
And in the midst of overwhelming I remember that God Himself is overwhelming, that He hems us in on every side from the front and back, that He surrounds us constantly, that He is in us and works through us and consumes us in every way. And when I remember that God is a God who – even in seemingly overwhelming chaos – brings order and transformation and perfection, it is nothing if not
overwhelming.
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