Airplane Etiquette

I landed safely in Houston sometime around 11pm last night. Except for my mad dash to Denver International Airport during rush hour traffic, my trip was relatively uneventful. That is, unless you would have spent an hour or two in my head. Apparently, I have an unspoken set of rules for the person or persons sitting next to me on an airplane....and the guy seated next to me last night was completely unaware that these existed.

Listed among my set of ideal flying conditions is the rule that no one has permission to share my seat, and lifting the arm rest to acquire a little extra wiggle room is completely out of the question. If there is no room for your wiggle, then it might just be time to put down the complementary peanuts and hit the gym.

I am also a firm believer that any child under the age of 14 should travel with a healthy dose of Benadryl. Or a muzzle. Of course, this rule will more than likely change if I ever have children of my own. Until then, I prefer to pass judgement on others and pretend that my offspring will be perfect.

A new rule that I acquired just last night is that anyone with unusual eating habits should not sit next to me. I'll be honest here and tell you that one of my weaknesses is the inability to ignore bizarre restaurant behavior. Apparently, this carries over to airplanes. I had severe eyeball strain by the time we landed in Houston because of my efforts to discretely gawk at my neighbor's savage attack on a tuna sandwich and Fritos. I still haven't fully recovered.

Speaking of landing in Houston, I would like to point out that I'm pretty sure my face melted off about thirty miles north of town as a result of the humidity. I'm still not sure why I continue to pack moisturizer when I come home.

Truth be told, I am thrilled to be here. There is nowhere else in the world I would rather be than home for the holidays!

Believe Me

One year ago this past Tuesday, I was riding to church with my friend Kari. It had snowed the night before, but none of the roads in our area were plowed yet. Because it was early on a Sunday morning, very few people were out. Most of the snow was undisturbed from the night before, and I remember thinking that EVERYTHING was white. It was so beautiful and incredibly peaceful.

I'm pretty much a regular at the 11am service, but we went to the early service that morning. After church, my small group met for lunch. Then, I headed home. Seconds after I walked through the door, my phone began ringing...and ringing...and ringing. I think I might have ignored the first couple of calls because I was desperate for a nap. But the third or fourth call led me to think that something might be wrong. And it was.

While my small group was enjoying a leisurely lunch, an angry gunman had walked onto the campus of our church. By the time it was all said and done, Matthew Murray had taken the lives of two young girls and injured several others. Miraculously, he was taken down by one of our security guards before he ended his own life and before he could do further damage.

I'll never forget turning on my television and watching policeman with their guns drawn, ducking behind cars in the snow covered parking lot where I stood a short time earlier. And, I remember watching SWAT officers moving stealthily around the church I was sitting in...worshiping in just moments before. It was surreal. And dark...a stark contrast from the blanket of white that had greeted us that morning.

The weeks that followed were life changing for me for a number of reasons. At the time of the shooting, I had been without a job for a couple of months. It was a desperate and frustrating season. My faith felt weak, and I was struggling to believe that God was in control. Obviously, my situation paled in comparison to the grief endured by the families who had lost loved ones, but the Lord graciously used the Works family who lost two daughters on that tragic afternoon to teach me a valuable lesson.

It was a Sunday prayer and praise night about a month after the shooting. I happened to be sitting across the aisle from David and Marie Works and their youngest daughter. I remember watching them as they worshiped unashamedly and thinking to myself that God was so absolutely in control of their situation....that He was going to be glorified through this tragedy. I was confident of it. I was also sure that God had to be preparing our church for something very special. Not only had we endured the tragic events of December 9, New Life Church had also lost its founding pastor in a scandal that was broadcast on every national media outlet just 13 months before. It had been a difficult year. Yet, there was great hope and anticipation.

In that moment during worship, I believe the Lord spoke to my heart. I was convicted as He pointed out that I was willing to believe Him corporately, but that I was unwilling to trust Him personally. In other words, it was easy to believe that He was in control of the events facing my church family and the Works family, but I was struggling to see that He also had great purpose in the circumstances that were pressing down on me. It was another lesson in trust, and it brought me back to the verse God used when He first moved me to Colorado Springs.

"You are my witnesses," declares the LORD, "and my servant whom I have chosen, so that you may know and BELIEVE ME and understand that I am he. Before me no god was formed, nor will there be one after me. Isaiah 43:10

"BELIEVE ME"...for a job, a purpose, finances, for a ministry, healing, a spouse, a hope, a future, for those times when you need to be rescued, encouraged, protected, loved. "BELIEVE ME" when the unthinkable happens, when life doesn't make sense, when you can't see a way out, when there seems to be no end in sight. "BELIEVE ME" to be in control of EVERY situation you encounter EVERY SINGLE MOMENT OF EVERY SINGLE DAY.

God is FAITHFUL, and He WILL cause ALL things to work together for good. He is worthy to be trusted...even in the face of tragedy.

Rescue 911

**UPDATE**
For those who have inquired, my firemen might have been single. I'm not really sure. They were nice looking in a lovable uncle sort of way. I'm pretty confident that "posing for the 2009 Hot Firemen Calendar" wasn't on their list of to-do items that morning.

At 7:22 this morning, I was ripped from the clutches of a deep and peaceful sleep by the violent ovation of my fire alarm. Actually, all THREE of my fire alarms. My first thought was, "My neighbor's alarm clock is really loud today." My second thought was, "Did I drink a small ocean of water before I went to bed last night because I REALLY need to go to the bathroom?"

When I finally realized what was happening, my bladder and I frantically began searching my condo for any sign of a fire. After assessing the situation and confirming that I was in no sort of imminent danger, I made a quick dash to the little girl's room to take care of business...while still being serenaded by the reality that something was very wrong. Looking back, it saddens me to think of where I chose to spend what could have been my last few moments of life. I mean, really.

Even so...with all necessary agenda items completed, I quickly grabbed my cell phone and called 911. For all I knew, the condo above me was on fire and mine was next.

I ran upstairs to awaken my neighbor and to check the perimeter of the building all the while sporting the most hideous ensemble of clothing known to man. Because I'm a layers girl, I had thrown a William and Mary sweatshirt and chocolate brown winter coat over a treasured turquoise blue CFISD t-shirt that I received sometime before 1998. Of course, no outfit would have been complete without my grey Polk Panthers sweatpants, white athletic socks, and khaki Crocks. Oh...and my purse.

I continued the play by play with my 911 operator as I searched for any sign of a fire. I found nothing. After trying unsuccessfully to awaken my upstairs neighbor, I headed back into my condo only to find that the alarms had stopped...just as my doorbell rang.

I opened the door to find two of Colorado Springs Fire Department's finest...one carrying some sort of ax. I considered suggesting that he use it to destroy the three fire alarms that had wrestled me from a peaceful night of sleep but gave in to my better judgment.

I explained to them the situation, at which point they tried to convince me that I probably just needed to change the batteries in my alarms. To their credit, at that moment I DID look just stupid enough to have not considered that possibility.

Certain that he had correctly assessed the situation, the fireman with the ax climbed onto one of my chairs to change the battery in smoke detector number one. As he disconnected my fire alarm, he discovered a sizable amount of water standing in the cover....which he proceeded to dump onto my carpet. Apparently, a water leak had caused the system to short out, setting off all three alarms in a harmonious chorus.

Clearly, I was no longer the girl who didn't change the batteries in her smoke detectors, I was the concerned victim of a flood. Feeling somewhat validated, I squinted my eyes and nodded intently as the firemen began to debate the source of my leak. The conversation did not last long, however, and I was soon left alone in my leak ridden home considering whether or not I should contact FEMA. I didn't.

Sticks and Stones

In case I haven't mentioned it one or forty times, 6th graders tend to push me to the brink of a nervous breakdown most days. I mean everyday. I recently had this conversation:

6th Grade Girl: He called me the "B" word.
Me (to 6th Grade Boy): Did you call her the "B" word?
6th Grade Boy: No, I called her a Big Nose because she called me a Ping Pong Head.

Being the professional that I am, I immediately began scrolling through my mental library of appropriate and effective responses to ABSURD accusations and conversations. Unfortunately, I could only come up with "Go sit down, and please...just STOP TALKING."