I never truly intended my very public blog to be about some private areas of my life.
In hindsight, it's very freeing.
Like a therapuetic diary. An internet couch as it were.
My mind enters my blog and puts its feet up on the chaise lounge and tells all.
(Are you doodling on a yellow legal pad as you read this and physco-analyzing me?)
It's been openly admitted that I have been in a funk... (that post here)
When I flew to TX to surprise my sister, Kim, it was to support her in a very rough patch of her life, and offer her some respite with sisterly companionship and of course, shopping.
In the end, God spoke very clearly to me.
It started on Wednesday when I woke up at the
butt crack of dawn (4 am is not an ideal hour) and scrambled to be on time to board my plane.
Has it been mentioned that I have an
unrealistic imagination? I do... It's true.
I had to force myself to stop watching Jack Baur and 24 due to my penchant for searching out the potential terrorists in every place I went, or mapping out an escape route if there were an international disaster in Target, or memorizing license plate numbers just "incase" they were linked to some great mystery.
(more about my imagination here)
Each time I fly I experience a mini panic attack. It's like a cross between claustrophobia, imagination overload and fear of heights. Normally after take-off I settle in and relax.
I found my seat (loathe American Airlines by the way) noticed the particularly shiny, perfectly round, immaculately bald head seated in front of me, had to restrain myself from rubbing my fingers across the scalp to see if it would squeak. (I'm sure it would!) and buckled in.
Here's where my journey started.
We took off, my heart beating like a cornered animal. Uneventful.
About 25 minutes into the flight, we hit some very bad turbulence.
I am an admitted control freak. If I feel like I am losing control, I will grasp at straws and try to pull it all together in a way that I feel comfortable and in control again.
(Are you physco-analyzing again? Stop it!)
My hand flailed to grab the seat cushion in front of me, (I slapped that shiny, bald head accidently- very nice shave job BTW) and my mind hit overdrive. I was convinced that marching up that aisle, shoving aside any airplane personnel and taking control of that plane would be the best option. It felt like my 7 year old was flying that contraption for goodness sake!
After one particularly sharp drop down, with my tummy doing loop de loops,
I had an impression - "Do you trust Me?" Again, "Do you trust Me?"
My mind quieted, and I focused in on that question... Of course I do... right... ?
On that flight, seats rattling, drinks spilling, passengers cursing and stomachs flipping, my heart was directly spoken to. After a few minutes, I came to the conclusion that "No, I couldn't control the plane, the future, or the past, but I could control my trust and faith in God, right then and there".
Small realization, big results! It was amazing, the calm that infused me.
Once landing, seeing my precious sister and being introduced to her newly chaotic life with juvenile diabetes, my heart was spoken to again. Catching a glimpse of Kim, cradling her 5 year old little boy, raising his shirt and piercing that soft, chubby belly with a needle filled with insulin, I saw the picture of a mothers trust in God. Watching my nephew, Jax, puncture his scar flecked tiny fingers to check his blood sugar, I saw the beginning of a lifelong trust in a Creator. Going to church that Sunday, hearing a word about trusting God and realizing His timing is perfect, as is His love for us.
It was simple, true and relevant.
Leaving to the airport, rain pelting the windshield, dark ominous clouds covering the horizon, I briefly wondered if my plane would be on time.
Boarding a tiny, one row plane, looking out a window with rain drops streaming down in rivets, I was quiet. Observant. I saw the dark clouds, eyes flickered over the sooty-black horizon, noticing the relentless rain, inspecting the hunched shoulders of the workers trying futilely to stay warm and dry as they went about their duties.
Our plane ascended into that murky expanse of sky. For some unknown reason, I was drawn in, my nose pressed up against the cold window, wiping away the fog of my breath, and all the while scouring the horizon.
We went right up through the clouds, bumping, knocking and seemingly struggling against the great pressures of the stratosphere. We headed straight into those dark, obscure puffs. And just when it seemed the plane was going to lose its battle against the odds, something miraculous happened.
We broke through the gloom.
I had to clench my eyes closed from the piercing light that shocked my senses. When my sight adjusted I beheld the most amazing view. (Wish I would have thought to grab a photo, but was too mesmerized).
Looking down below, I saw those desolate clouds, shifting and massing, almost thriving in the shadows, overtaking the land and all the people below it. Layered on top of the somber storm were bursts of light, pure white clouds, an ocean of beauty and peace, incandescent rays piercing the murkiness.
A distinct demarcation between light and darkness.
I cried. Tears streaming down my face. I felt a caressing in my heart, my head lifting up, and shoulders squaring back.
No one could have perceived the beauty crowning the tempest when we sat, idley, on the soupy runway.
Its been a journey, bumping along, almost blindly at times, losing direction, daunted by surroundings, felled by stormy winds, and defeated by darkness.
But, just above the storm, arms of light reach into obscurity, ready to shine down on upturned faces.
The "funk" is gone.