Between going to Indianapolis for the Influence Conference and Mexico for a family vacation, I went on 8 fights in a short amount of time. I love flying. Here are some thoughts I jotted down on one of those flights.
There is a sweet and strange camaraderie that occurs on an airplane.
Magical moments as strangers share a knowing glance at the man with the obviously too large carry-on.
Thoughts are shared immediately on flight take-off quality, because passengers know everything about airplanes.
Flight attendant whisper jokes to the passengers who hang out at the back of the plane instead of in their seats.
Bonded by hours spent squished together, where mere hours ago strangers boarded, now strangers are traveling accomplices.
It's similar to a family reunion. When you have to spend hours with people you don't truly know, you need to create allies to get through the day.
When the plane lands, the magic disappears.
Transfers to catch, bags to claim, vacations to being, homes to get to - the camaraderie proves to not be strong.
Accomplices resort to pushing one another in hopes of getting off the plane first.
Allies deny ever having met.
Knowing glances turn to glares.
Welcome to your destination.
I was at a women's retreat at the
beginning of October and the takeaway for my heart was one question in
particular that the speaker posed:
What's your belt of truth?
A belt of truth being that thing that you remember all the time. When a lie comes into your mind, you can combat it with truth.
Up
until she made the reference, I'd never thought about how essential the
belt of truth is to the life of a believer. It holds up our
pants. That's what a belt does. It keeps us clothed.
What's your belt of truth?
Mine is that Christ is for me.
What's yours?
I wrote this post while I was in Mexico back in October. My family went down for a week. It was a sweet trip, one that had been in the works for about a year, one where we celebrated my parents 40th anniversary. It was so special to see all of my siblings (and nieces and nephews) since only a small part of my family lives locally.
I'm sitting in a comfy chair, in a cool bar at our resort in Mexico.
Atop my head is a cute fedora. Or at least I hope it looks cute. My hair is in two braids like a child. Unlike a child, to my right sits the half-done tasty cocktail.
An open book lays on the table, and other than the sunburn that has chased me for days, all is well.
A few minutes ago, I stood in the shower. I stood there for a long time, letting the ocean sand and salt fall off, and the cold water refresh.
I feel similar about Mexico to how I felt about Vegas two years ago.
I love it. It's so fun. It's so fake. My family laugh about wanting another week here (probably more so because we're all together more than the location), but I miss the chaos of home.
Most specifically, I miss God. Here, I can go a day and He doesn't cross my mind. I think about the water, tequila, writing, my favourite server Antonio at the buffet ( one of the sweetest 15 year old my heart has ever met).
I don't need Jesus here. This magic land fulfills all of my earthly needs.
That fact terrifies me.
Home is chaos. Home is a new job the day after I get back. Home is the fact that I don't know when I'll have to move again.
At home, I am desperate for Christ because everything is chaotic. I seek Him. I crave Him. I cannot function without His leading.
Mexico is a dose of paradise. It really is. It's refreshed my weary bones and settled my anxious heart.
But home is good and better.
Now don't mind me I'm off to order another tequila sunrise.
I was sitting at the piano, playing it for a dear 6 year old friend of mine. We do this many nights, me playing and singing, her singing along, pointing at my piano sheets and asking where on the page I am.
Sometimes she grabs her tap shoes and taps around the piano.
Sometimes she makes up new words.
Always, she inspires me to simply worship exactly where I am.
One night, I was playing a song that she liked (though, she pretty much claims every song as her favourite, so who knows) and she commented that I was playing it differently. At that moment, I was trying to sneak in some genuine practice for the following Sunday. I was playing my actual lines along with the chords, because I knew on Sunday I wouldn't be playing the chords - simply little melodic lines.
She asked why I was playing them.
I explained how on a typical Sunday on worship team, I don't play the same way I do with her. The other instruments play their lines and I play mine. I showed her what I played, and asked if she'd ever heard it that way during church.
She looked at me and said: Oh, that makes sense. We all have a part to play.
For whatever reason, I grabbed her into my arms and gave her a big hug.
Her words were so poignant to my heart in that moment.
I'm in a interesting new season right now. I live with a family, work as a nanny, babysit my niece, most of my evenings are filled with a Bible study or a community group, a worship practice, and if I'm having a good week, time with friends as well. It still feels new, and it's not where I expected my life to look like at this point.
But I am playing a part. It's a new part, a new line, a new melody.
On a day filled with grace filled conversation (it was a Sunday where I'd met a friend for coffee before church, gone to church, had good chats in the sanctuary after church, went out for tea with a friend, met friends via video chat, and had met this sweet friend for some singing. It was a good and fully wonderful day), it was this exchange with my dear 6 year old friend that impacted my heart.
It's easy for me to want to play all the roles, or to play the main one, the main chords that drive the song. Or to think that the line I've been given won't make the song sound right. But sometimes, in some seasons, for reasons that only God knows, we get to play little melodies. These lines are important, and songs are made beautiful because of them, but if they're played on their own, they feel a bit small.
That's why we need community, why we need to listen well to know when to play, and why we need our 6 year old friends to whisper truth to us on the days when we've forgotten.
Have you had a conversation lately with somebody that wasn't meant to be spiritual but ended up all together encouraging your weary soul? I'd love to hear.
