18 Septiembre, 2016
It’s finally hitting me that I’m going to be gone.
For an entire year.
And as I look out this plane window, watching the luggage cars run around the airports’ Delta line, I wonder at how this is like my home. My America. My United States. I suppose it truly is, since it is American soil, but this not-so-little airport personifies my America.
I sit on a LATAM flight, an American Airlines plane, headed into an oblivion of grey mists, of unknowns, that sometimes seem to mask the true Light. But I will know that the Light is still there, even if rain is succeeding in its attempt to obscure it. But it is not completely successful. The very fact that I can see the luggage cars run proves that much–Light is still filtering through, even if I cannot see its source.
With this confidence, I am ready to face the oblivion, the unknown, the mask, so that I can find what lies beyond it, beyond the equator.
We are in a line of planes waiting for take-off, and there are some college-age kids behind me who are (if my accidental eavesdropping skills are proved correct) headed to Bolivia. I wonder how they’re feeling. They sound so confident and sure of themselves and I’m so… unsure right now. But faith full. Trusting God. He holds this plan in His hands as we try our wings against the unknown, and for that I am immensely grateful.
One piece of me can hardly stand leaving, and the other piece just wants to BE there already! How am I supposed to balance those?! Haha, I suppose it’s not my worry–I’ll just go!