I’m pretty sure that following Jesus is pretty much the same as being a dog.
Just go with me on this one.
We’re born. Some of us into good homes, some of us into not so good homes. Maybe we’re sleeping on streets and digging in trash. Maybe we end up in the pound or given away for free if not a cheap sum. Perhaps we were blessed enough to be born into a good loving family. It’s hard to say.
It was that feeling of defeat; the type that makes you hang your head and close your eyes, wishing with every ounce of strength left in you that you could magically disappear to anywhere else in the world. Anywhere other than this rooftop in Nepal, anywhere other than standing in front of your entire squad. It’s the type of feeling I had experienced all too often; it’s the thing that makes you want to run away.
It was already after three, our day off campus was quickly approaching an end and yet I couldn’t make myself move. We couldn’t be late and I knew that, but how could I pull myself off the cluttered porch when I was sitting at the feet of Bessy Lynn; the most beautiful 90 year old woman, sitting in a porch chair on what was supposed to be a typical Saturday afternoon. Her shaking hands were kept busy while she tried to fix and straighten her long blue skirt or push back the grey hair that was already pulled back in a ponytail. Her light blue eyes held the emotions of confusion, fear and apprehension to the unexplainable visit of six girls to her pre-Beverly hillbilly home. It was only her dog and rooster that seemed kept her company on this dead end back-country road and even the dog was unsure of how to act around so many strangers.
I threw my very unorganized gear into the back of a practically stranger’s suburban and continued my adventure by climbing into the front seat, closing the door and waving goodbye to my aunt as she stood on the sidewalk on a late June Texas evening.
The 15 hour road trip to training camp had begun.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been blessed to drive down a back highway in east Texas right before evening during the season we humorously call fall. It’s late October and by the grace of God it’s a bit cooler today; the type of weather that makes you roll down the windows, take the top down on the convertible or pull out the old motorcycle. The sky is as blue as ever, crisp and steady with clouds floating around and hanging out, adding depth to the endlessness of the atmosphere. (more…)
the unscripted wing 