Just so you all don't think I've either died, gone mute, or lost the ability to access internet (that last one possibly the scariest of scenarios!) I thought I'd post again. I can offer a list of excuses, all detailed and equally plausible, but instead I'll offer two explanations for my recent xanga-posting-deficiencies.

(1) I'm doing my best just to keep up with the treadmill-on-crack pace of life at the moment; not so much time to sit, type, think, breathe...

(2) I'm becoming more and more a fan of blogspot. (Sorry to you faithful xanga-ers.) My other blog (which is also currently suffering from my lack of sitting-typing-thinking-breathing time, is: http://defying-cultural-norms.blogspot.com/

That being said, I hope that sometime in the near future (at this point it looks like it might be September) I will have the chance to once again sit, type, think and breathe.

Until then...

This is a "post" I wrote the old fashion way - with pen and paper - on the plane ride back to Indiana. Thought I'd include it here.

Here I am- sitting in the exit row of an airplane and God pokes around pieces of my heart to teach me something. I guess He has the right... it is Sunday and I did offer. The flight attendant, who by the way had lost most of her pep by the time we boarded, asked if those of us in the exit row would be willing to assist passengers in the event of an emergency. Yes. Mm-hm. Sure. Does the pilot anticipate crashing today? My wit was lost on her as she bustled away. Over her shoulder she called back to us- be sure to read the instructions located in the seat pocket in front of you.

My fellow travelers to my right and left nodded robotically but made no motions toward obtaining the prescribed information. Well, I was not going to be seen as the fool so I resisted the urge to read over the pamphlet and turned my attention instead to finishing the sudoku game I had started.

That's when it happened. Poke.

Ack. What now? Almost immediately my spirit began to feel His gentle chiding. Here I was entrusted with the responsibility of the lives of others and, afraid of appearing "odd" to the strangers on either side of me I was choosing to ignore vital information that I would need to carry out the task I was given, if required.

How true to life that is!

The same apprehension that I was feeling as to whether or not I would be able to assist in the event of an emergency I often feel when the doubts come as to whether or not I could rightly assist someone who's spiritual life was in peril.

The response in both cases should be the same: a purposeful reaching for and digesting of the vital information we are provided with in advance, not caring what those to our right and left will think of our actions.

Lovely title, I know. But it caught your attention, did it not?

I debated whether or not this is something I should post, but in the end decided that I needed to share the lesson God taught me yesterday. The painful, frustrating, humbling lesson.

So this is the story of my travels home for Christmas... and how I arrived safely, yet covered in whale vomit.

As I made plans to come home for Christmas I talked myself into looking for a "quick fix" to something I've been dealing with for a little while. Some of my accountability partners will know what I'm talking about. If you're not one of them, than rest assured that by the world's standards it was nothing horrible. But by the standards of holiness that God has continued to gently call me to it didn't fully line up. Yep. I was a regular Jonah.

I am, however, a decent justifier and can hold my own in a debate so by the time I had packed my things and gone to bed on Thursday night, I had settled in my mind that I would not say no to an opportunity if it presented itself. Having wrestled with it back and forth for several days I concluded this debate with a prayer. "God, You're bigger than I am. If I am allowing myself to do something that You are saying no to than You can stop me. Amen." (Author's note: don't ever pray this prayer and then fly the next day with a connection at O'Hare.) Ninevah was not on my itinerary. I was headed the other direction.

The next day (Friday) dawned bright and early. I was eager to get home and have always enjoyed air travel so it seemed like the day was going to be a good one. I picked Kenzie up at the Lodge and she and I drove to my aunt's house in Elkhart. There my grandma was waiting to drive us to the airport so I could leave my car with them rather than pay for parking. (I love having family close.) After grabbing a bite to eat at the airport we still had an hour to kill before we'd even have to worry about going through security. It was then I heard my name announced over the airport speakers. "Passenger Terranova: please report to the United counter. Passenger Terranova." Uh-oh. Walking towards the counter I thought over everything it could be. Flight was canceled. Bag was to heavy. They found something suspicious in my luggage. Thankfully it wasn't too long of a walk so I didn't have time to get too anxious.

Upon arriving at the counter I was informed, to my delight, that there was an earlier flight and they were putting me on it. Wonderful! Only catch is I had less than ten minutes to make it to the gate. Great! Off we took running, giving my grandma a quick kiss on the cheek and hug good bye as I ran towards security.

Got on the plane with little problem, having said good bye to Kenzie, and settled in for the 20 minute flight to O'Hare. At this point it was 11am. Flying to Chicago I gained 40 minutes in my day thanks to the time change. I arrive at O'Hare around 10:30am and immediately headed to the counter to see if I could catch an earlier flight home. (This would even better suit my plans.) All was good on the boat.

No. There was no earlier flight.

Easy for me to type that. But in order for me to have gained that information required several treks to various concourses in O'Hare airport. Mile upon mile, my feet started to complain. I had a carry on with no wheels but a good attitude for most of the morning. My flight left at 1:30pm. I'd be home by 4:30pm. All is well. Plan is intact. Time to go below deck for a little nap.

A line on one of the terminal monitors bleeped orange. Flight delayed. The storm clouds started rolling in, overcasting my beautiful day on the boat.

Not a problem. It was only delayed until 2pm. Still plenty of time. As I was thinking this to myself the monitored bleeped again. 2:30pm. Fine. The wind had picked up a little, whipping the sails around.

I grew miffed. I wanted to go home, darn it. And this airport was keeping me here. Normally, I am one for adventure. (Having once spent an entire day in O'Hare after missing a flight, navigating this monster airport was second nature for me.) But this was different. I had an attitude problem. I wanted to be home. I wanted to get on with my plans. And something was stopping me.

Or Someone... but it didn't occur to me just then.

I settled in with a book and prepared to pass the time. Through some communication it would seem that plans I had would still work. It could still work.

Bleep. What!? I looked up. That monitored *bleeping* bleeped again. Flight delayed until 3pm.

At this point, I started to cry. No, seriously. I've never really cried in an airport before. There's always been too much to distract me. But this was different. I wanted to go home. I wanted, I wanted... I wanted my way.

The waves were really thrashing now, lightning ripping through the sky. The boat was caught in the turbulence and the other passengers were beginning to get tense. They didn't like this anymore than I did.

Finally, we boarded the plane. I settled into my seat, exhausted and on edge. But in a way, relieved. This could still work. I could still have my way. It would be less time than I had wanted but still, it could work. A small smile crossed my face. I breathed deep and sat back in my chair, ready to nap the duration of the flight. Nothing could stop me now except...

"Um, ladies and gentlemen," the pilot sounded uneasy. "We have a slight mechanical difficulty. Well, slight might not be the right word... Our hydraulic brake monitored doesn't seem to be working. Call me kooky, but when I'm getting ready to land I want to make sure my brakes work. We'll be experiencing a slight delay... Well, slight might not be the right word..."

The entire plane groaned. And I copped an attitude with God. And the storm raged.

45 minutes later, we taxied to the runway. By this time, I was angry. I just wanted my way, once. Was that so bad? I started to recognize the series of events as what they really were... God answering my idiotic prayer. "You're big enough to stop me..." I mean really? Who's stupid enough to offer a challenge like that to God?

Yours truly.

Finally in the air, with a functioning brake monitor, I sat back in my seat. Pouting. Just to show God, I took out my ipod and put the headphones into my ears. (In my delusional, childish state I guess I thought this would drown out His voice.) Unfortunately, He's a smart one. The song that came on was more chastising than cheering. I felt myself begin to crumble, despite my best efforts to stubbornly stick this one out. So I was the one in the wrong... again. And all these poor people on the plane... were they victims of my irresponsible fit-throwing?

Conviction, rather than guilt, filled my heart.

Wish I would have listened to it. But rather than letting the conviction take full effect and rather than apologizing for my behavior and asking God to forgive my selfish stupidity I looked at my watch. Everything else was shoved aside as I quickly calculated the time. We were approaching our destination, we'd be on the ground shortly. Wait a minute! I could still make it! This could still work. I could still get my way!

And people, I swear to you this is the truth, I looked up with what, I'm sure, was a slightly triumphant grin on my face, the kind a child has on when they think they have successfully sneaked a cookie behind mom's back, and the pilot's voice came over the airplane speakers.

"Um, folks, I, uh, well... we, we appreciate your patience. And, well you see, we've just got word that we have to stay in a holding pattern until they notify us further. We do apologize and, uh, thank you for your patience. *click*" The click, I'm sure, was the pilot locking the cockpit door to ward off irate passengers.

That would be me.

I was furious. I started to cry. Why? Why couldn't God just let me have my own way and then fix the mess later?? He then proceeded to gently, softly, speak to my emotional, ravaged heart, reminding me of words that I have earnestly prayed. Guide me. Lead me. Protect me. Purify me.

Grr. It was me. I was the problem. Just as the other men on the boat with Jonah also had to suffer the storm, these other passengers were suffering because God was willing to reach down and protect me from myself.

We were cleared to land. And then, almost just to prove how in control He was, God delayed us once more. We were circling down towards the airport, not 2,000 feet above ground when out of no where cloud cover swarmed the place and visibility was reduced to next to nil. Back up we went to make a few more laps.

I cried. And finally, I surrendered. Thankfully God didn't ask me to throw myself from the plane. He asked me to throw my will, my desires, my plans for selfish fulfillment overboard. And so I did. I let it go and we landed. The storm stilled, the waves grew calm and the sky cleared.

And there I was, standing on dry ground, covered in whale vomit. I picked up my suitcases from baggage claim, shouldered my carry on and trudged toward Ninevah. Physically and emotionally exhausted. Smelling like whale vomit. But safe. Forgiven. Protected. Loved.

Jonah's Prayer

 1 From inside the fish Jonah prayed to the LORD his God. 2 He said:
       "In my distress I called to the LORD,
       and he answered me.
       From the depths of the grave I called for help,
       and you listened to my cry.

 3 You hurled me into the deep,
       into the very heart of the seas,
       and the currents swirled about me;
       all your waves and breakers
       swept over me.

 4 I said, 'I have been banished
       from your sight;
       yet I will look again
       toward your holy temple.'

 5 The engulfing waters threatened me,
       the deep surrounded me;
       seaweed was wrapped around my head.

 6 To the roots of the mountains I sank down;
       the earth beneath barred me in forever.
       But you brought my life up from the pit,
       O LORD my God.

 7 "When my life was ebbing away,
       I remembered you, LORD,
       and my prayer rose to you,
       to your holy temple.

 8 "Those who cling to worthless idols
       forfeit the grace that could be theirs.

 9 But I, with a song of thanksgiving,
       will sacrifice to you.
       What I have vowed I will make good.
       Salvation comes from the LORD."

 10 And the LORD commanded the fish, and it vomited Jonah onto dry land.