Consequences

Well, I'm back. Don't feel threatened. It's just me.

What do you really say after a trip like that? I feel a sudden urge to flee this blog entry and go make banana pancakes, even though it's one in the afternoon and I'm not even that hungry.

I returned from Afghanistan with great joy last Tuesday, flying into the Shreveport airport. An intensity of green everywhere. It felt like things should have changed while I was gone, but it didn't seem that they had at all. I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't even gone four weeks. Not even Ethan had time to grow perceptibly.

The flight was delightful, as most of my flights seem to be. We'll just omit the part about the food. To think, I would survive (and thrive) on Afghan food for a month, only to fall prey to a container of discolored rice. Let's just say my layover in Atlanta was more exciting than last time. Ahem.

I loved the part where I got a window seat flying out of Kabul so that I could say a proper goodbye, because I have no idea when I'll get to come back. I spent half the flight water coloring frantically in order to finish the storybook I was making of the trip. The rest of the time I watched two thought provoking movies and conversed with a rather outgoing marine biologist who had just spent two months on a boat near Dubai and must not have talked to ANYONE during that time. Because she had a lot to say to me. And she likes dogs.

And on the flight between Atlanta and Shreveport I had another window seat and couldn't sleep, so I put a kink in my neck staring out the window at my homeland going by. So green! (At least that part of the country.) Prayers filled my heart for the place I was leaving and the country I was flying over.

I think on this trip my heart has been tenderized and my eyes opened to how people all over the world are in deep bondage, all kinds of bondage, without the power of Jesus. And how prayer is the way that His power changes things. Prayer, obedience, love. And it has to involve His bride. Us.

In Atlanta, pressing through a very disorganized line at five in the morning, I found myself feeling bitter and frustrated with my fellow Americans for the lack of dignity, the slouchiness, the sense of flopping all over the place. It was silly and petty, and pretty soon I was hit with how much we all have our issues, all over the world. One society might have strength in certain areas and another in others, but we're all a hopeless cause without Jesu, joy of man's desiring.

I guess the consequences of getting nosy and crossing oceans is that you find yourself torn between two (or three or four or five) sets of customs, scenes, mindsets, people, and experiences, and it's impossible to ever put yourself back together again. But that's a price I'm willing to pay.

I've decided to practice gratitude wherever I am for the good things in the spot I'm in today. Such as my family members. Good coffee. Fast internet. My bed. Going for walks and singing as loudly as I want. Worshiping with a big fellowship full of people who are seeking. Stuff like that.