I wonder how many flights like these I’ll find myself on over the course of the next six months. Dry mouth. Cold feet clad in Birkenstocks. Tired eyes, sore back, happy heart. Stale lights. Strangers’ kind smiles asking for guidance, then helping me find my way.
Through the airport, through my skin, electricity pulses. With the turbulence, excitement gently rocks my bones while the tragedy of farewells begins to wane. Mountain and Josh Garrels on repeat. Told only by the shadows on maps I so obsessively enjoy, ocean cliffs lurk miles below the belly of the plane. One malfunction, and we’ll be reenacting scenes from “Lost,” but for each of us confidence in something greater than ourselves helps curb the anxiety. For me, it’s trust in the Almighty God who sent me on this trip.
As for a moment the perpetual tossing of the wind ceases, the walls hold their breath, begging explanation from the windows. The gales find their rhythm, and the luggage exhales. All is well.
Thirty-five minutes until I arrive, and suddenly the nerves settle back in. Finally, it begins to hit: the changing of homes has begun, and I find I’m ready. I’m ready to see what the Lord has to show me on the ever open road, what the life of a missionary will teach me, and who I will have become by the end of it all.
“In You, O Lord, I put my trust; let me never be ashamed; deliver me in Your righteousness. Bow don Your ear to me, deliver me speedily; be my rock of refuge, a fortress of defense to save me. For You are my rock and my fortress; therefore for Your name’s sake, lead me and guide me.” ~Psalm 31:1-3