Expanse

I am looking out the window at the Sahara Desert. Weird and awesome. The flight from Amsterdam to Nairobi takes us over Sudan and Libya - essentially the heart of the largest, hottest, and most famous desert in the world. I'm a little surprised that the Sahara isn't made entirely of rolling yellow sand dunes as far as the eye can see. Sometimes the sand is more salmon in color. Sometimes it's white. Sometimes the dunes don't really seem to be rolling so much as rippling. Sometimes there are no dunes - just sand. Scattered here and there in some of the flat areas are large networks of rock formations. There is even a handful of roads. All in all, I'd say that the scenery down below is a - brace yourself for this one - taupe kaleidoscope. If you couldn't tell, this is all derision. When I look out the window, basically it's blue on the top and yellow on the bottom. Still, I wanted to stay awake for this part of the flight so I could say that I've seen the Sahara Desert.

It's fascinating to me that there are more people cooped up in this giant flying tin can than can be found in thousands of square miles of earth directly below us. It's such an immeasurably vast expanse that it can only truly be described with repetitive redundancy. I think about the 20 million sardines - I mean people - in Mexico City and I kinda wonder why half of them don't just move to the Sahara. Seeing an expanse like this from the air makes me want to defenistrate anyone who complains about how over-populated the Earth is. We have plenty of space. We just like to assert our right to personal space over that of others. You can't demand your space if there's no one around from whom to demand it. So we all go to LA, NY, Tokyo, and (for who knows what reason) Mexico City to complain about it.

On the other hand, have you ever tried to envision just how many people there are in the world? Doesn't it just make your heart break? I've literally seen tens of thousands of people today that I will never see again, and each one of them has their own great need in the midst of their own brokenness. Most of them don't know it, and most of those that do don't know how to find it. I can't possibly have given each one of them a hug, and even if I did, most of them would have been offended at the invasion of their personal space. Furthermore, how am I supposed to make a difference in their lives when I'm so preoccupied with my own? Knowing the answer to this question and being able to effectively live that way are two very different things. Fortunately, I'm on a collision course with growth in this very area, and somewhere on this plane is a man who does it very very well. Ed knows, whether by God-given understanding, life-nurtured wisdom, innate ability, or lots and lots of practice just how to do this. He has already had one soul-nurturing conversation with a seat companion on a previous flight, and he is engaged in another right now. I am excited to see how God will use him to awaken more hearts this trip. Funny how seeing a huge, un-populated mass of desert has awakened my heart to the needs of hearts around me. I only hope I can get out of the way.

Departure

I'm en route to Africa. If ever there was an excuse to subject my friends and family to mindless dribble about the endless minutia of my life (i.e. start a blog), I figure this is it. I was contemplating a preliminary post explaining my long-term intentions for this blog, but I figured it would be more interesting to just get started as if you had been reading it for months (in other words, I procrastinated, and now, here we are). I should say that, eventually, I hope there will be an abundance of photos here, so if you're not really a reader, then stay tuned if you can, and I'll provide lots of pretty little pictures. Without further ado, let's unleash the dribble.

I'm wearing mismatched socks. (This is exactly the kind of detail I know you don't care about, because I wouldn't care about it if I were in your position. But I'm not in your position. I'm the one writing. This is also exactly the kind of detail that makes life interesting to the person living it, and again, that's me. So quit complaining.) This is noteworthy because I have never once in my life worn mismatched socks without having specifically intended to do so. I set out a rolled-up pair last night, and when I unrolled them, the adidas logo that appeared on only one of them reached out and slapped me in the face. I didn't have time to find a matching pair, so I'll have to just deal with it. It's not that I mind how mismatched socks look (how often do you really notice a person's socks?), it's how they feel. One is significantly thicker than the other, and I'll have to deal with a dichotomy of foot temperature for an insufferable amount of time (it's a very long day of travel). Bollocks.

"Dude, it's weird that you're going to Africa." Normally, Zach is much more eloquent and much less like Keanu Reeves in the Bill and Ted movies. (Zach is my best friend and a recurring character in the annals of my life - get used to his presence here.) However, this statement somehow adequately encapsulates how I'm feeling at the moment. It is weird that I'm going to Africa. I don't know what else to say about it. To serve the Lord through photography all around the world has been a dream of mine for some time. Dreams are typically characterized by their weirdness. Why should this be any different? I doubt it will sink in for quite some time.

I think Ed (Pastor, traveling companion, brother in ministry, and friend) and I may have set a new record for most consecutive airpunts. An airpunt is the maneuver by which you propel your carry-on bag forward towards the gate with your foot because it's annoying to pick it up, walk two steps, and then put it down again 500 times in the course of an hour. LAX must have waxed their floors recently, because I was getting considerable distance out of my backpack, which weighs at least 25 pounds. Once through the gate, we sat down and I bought a breakfast sandwich from CPK which really was almost worth the $8 I paid for it. Returning to the waiting area, I noted Cholo's Cantina. I'll bypass the absurdity of its name and proceed to its claim. Cholo's boasts of having the best margarita in LA. I couldn't help but comprise a Master Card ad for the LA native who wants to hit up his favorite margarita joint, which just happens to be in terminal 5 at LAX.

Boarding Pass to anywhere: at least $200

Checked luggage: $15

Waiting in line for an hour and a half: $13.13 @ minimum wage

Enjoying the best margarita in LA: NOT NEARLY WORTH IT

When you're headed for an encounter with God in Africa, things seem more miraculous on your way there. Flight is just stupid meaningful. Think about it. (If you're not awed, the you're not really thinking about it.) How do we get these twenty-ton heaps of scrap metal off the ground? To presume, as human beings, that we could engineer flight is beyond imaginative. It's arrogant. Yet I am 30,000 feet in the air, and God has not yet struck me dead. Climbing out of the thickest marine layer I can remember having seen, with the clouds below like a blanket of snow, I'd swear I was flying over the North Pole. The white carpet stretches as far as I can see, and curls around the foothills like the sea around an archipelago. Grace. Confronted by the beauty of this creation and the blessing it is to be who I am, where I am, "Grace" is all I can say. Grace propels me towards I know not what, although I know untold riches await when I arrive. Not at all unlike a jet engine. Only by the Spirit and by Grace does this twenty-ton heap of scrap flesh have the power of lift-off. And though this body moves awkwardly on the ground, I find that in the air, propelled by Grace, I am as I was created to be. We land in Detroit and Amsterdam before finally reaching Nairobi, Kenya. I hope that even as I return to the earth, this deeper flight will continue. Your prayers are coveted.