a New Lesson. — mesamak

From the start, I want to make it known how disappointed I am in myself for not having posted any updates whatsoever until this point now.

That being said, I need to explain why.

Let’s start at the beginning: Belgium, week one.

So I must say,

when you have never traveled anywhere before,

there are a lot of things that traveling out of the country teaches you.

A lot of things. Very quickly.

There’s culture, obviously. There’s time management. How to live in a cramped, shared space with a number of people, even after you’ve adjusted to living on your own. How to (try to) read maps. When you do and when you do not have the pedestrian’s right of way. Listening. Coordination. Awareness.

Oh yes - awareness. that is a big one.

Because the very first lesson I learned once arriving bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in Verviers, Belgium was this:

never take your eyes off your laptop on an airplane.

ever.

oh, yes.

Perhaps there are a few people reading this who also felt the pit-in-the-stomach that I did when I reached into my carry on, after we had already arrived safely to our little home away from home, our facility safely tucked away on a random street corner in a foreign city, more train stops than I could count away from the airport, only to realize my highest-ticket item was not safely tucked in the pocket where it should have been.

big. oops.

Needless to say, my amazing trip-of-a-lifetime-full-of-self-discovery-and-memories-to-tell-until-the-day-I-die most certainly did not start out quite as I had expected. Or would have ever dreamt. Or wished. upon anyone. ever.

I realized, in the process of recounting those last few moments before I deplaned, that my computer was lying underneath my infamous seat number 31C and had never made its way back into my carry on at all; in what felt like an eternity of sheer panic as I scrambled through all of my belongings trying to find my passport, I had completely forgotten about my computerly companion still on the floor - and by the way, what a void the cabin floor must be, due to the plethora of online “help I’ve forgotten an item on the airplane” forums that kept me company in the days that ensued.

Not to mention I was the last person off the plane - and when you’re the only person on the plane who has never flown on a plane before, that’s not exactly an antidote to the case of already-rising panic.

But no matter the exact details - what it all boils down to is flat out, face palm worthy, humiliating negligence. I forgot my computer on the airplane, it’s true. And I was racing against the clock, against my own anxiety, against my international phone plan bill, and against all of the automated voices that answer when you call airline companies in order to get it back. But the story doesn’t end there.

In fact, there’s a very interesting twist.

Because on that flight, my eyes were opened to a glaring truth to which I had been so, so blind.

Watching the sun go down over the left side of the plane, right over the edge of the earth and in all of its golden glory, I sought an opportunity to take a picture. Granted, I didn’t get a good one. But this is the picture I took - underwhelming, but still a commemoration of my very first flight and one of my most significant realizations to date.

Because the window seat wasn’t mine.

I moved across the isle to take this picture, taking the seat of a guy who offered it to me, an act of kindness on his part that resulted in conversation lasting the entire duration of our flight. It is one of those really unique memories (an assortment of moments, really) to hold dear and to learn from and to think about in passing for years to come.

Because this flight, from Atlanta, Georgia to Brussels, Belgium - this conversation with a stranger I had never before met, whose name I hardly knew - taught me what I didn’t, and couldn’t have ever tried to, expect to learn so quickly.

I had never before tried to tell a complete stranger about my faith in God.

The realization was a complete sky-fall, an out-of-left-field-total-knockout, that I was face-to-face with an opportunity that I had heard about sermon after sermon after sermon that I had never actually practiced, like a pop-up exam for which I hadn’t ever truly studied but that I knew would show up eventually, for which I didn’t know if I had the strength, or the muscles at all, to be able to grab that opportunity and go.

But on my heart and everything that I am, I tried.

I quickly found the faults in my arguments, the loopholes, the “oh goodness I really ought to study that more” and the “well if this plane had free Wifi, I’m sure google could save me” reckonings and realizations that bubbled up and fizzed right over the edge of the glass that was, in fact, my narrow-and-in-desperate-need-of-widening worldview.

There were moments I felt confused and unsure. Unsure how to answer, how to phrase, how to not be confusing and how to be loving in my reply. And more than anything, there were moments that I could only breathe wow, God

Because that opportunity - those moments talking about our Lord and Savior, why He is and why I will always believe in Him - will be with me for the rest of my life.

This world is full of people who do not know. Those people are not in my old world, though - in that one, everyone knows who Jesus is because church on Sunday is expected and knowing your favorite bible verse is imperative and knowing the denomination to which you belong is simply a no-brainer.

But not to someone who has never heard the word denomination before. Not to someone who sits just on the other side of the language barrier, across the country’s border, across the ocean. or maybe just across the isle.

Not to the real world. it’s not that simple at all.

I am face-to-face with an opportunity of a lifetime. A chance to have my view of life and all that it is turned totally upside down.

And on my heart and everything that I am, it certainly is.

When that plane was landing, in the stretching-into-infinity moment before the wheels touched the runway and that little venture into the depths of what it means to be human and what it means to have faith was over, I thanked God for being with me. I thanked him once, twice, and seven times. And I meant it.

I knew that next time, I wanted to be better prepared to serve.

And for that, I was thankful. And for that, I shall always be.

And for that, I tried to hold on as best as I possibly could during the days that followed, because I know in the grand scheme of things, me losing a computer doesn’t hold a candle to the parallel lesson I learned on the very same flight. And if I had to lose a computer again to learn it, to learn that I needed to read and rehearse and get

better at sharing the gospel,

then I would lose the computer every time.

Now, for the disclaimer: the words one this page were written on my computer that is now back home with me, safe and sound once and for all - what was once lost is now found after diligent searching, honest and genuine help from several airline representatives, worn-thin patience, and everyone around me trying to reassure me that everything would work out fine. I was scared, I was stressed, but it was a week (that felt like a year) that I tried to desperately hold onto my thankfulness.

And I am by all means one of the lucky ones. (Just trying digging into some of these online forums for yourself.)

But I know at the end of the day, I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve my laptop being found and returned to me, of all the people who have lost precious items dear to them that were never returned. I didn’t deserve that comfort, that material blessing in the first place, that happy ending. I didn’t deserve this opportunity in the first place, either.

Neither do I deserve the gospel more than the next person, no matter where we are sitting.

I am way off track, delayed/derailed in this journaling process due to the temporary technology drought, so I’m going to skip ahead to this previous Sunday (time is flying here, by the way - my goal is to do better, but you want to talk about busy. I’m traveling the world!).

A preacher, to a tiny Church of Christ on the backstreets of Rome, where a collection of us college students nearly doubled the attendance, preached a beautiful Italian sermon last Sunday morning. I don’t have to speak the language to know how intelligent that man truly must be - every now and then he summarized his most important points for us students to be able to take something away when we left. On his last note, he said:

“This lesson is over and the last thing I want to say is, thank the Lord for the gospel. Because it cost a lot. Thank you Lord for the possibility through the gospel that I have to love today and tomorrow and daily life with the certainty that I have to be a better person. Let’s thank the Lord for this and be grateful for what we have.”

I have been learning more about life on this trip than I could have ever thought possible, than I could have ever conjured in my wildest dreams, before my feet even hit the ground.

Oh, Father. thank you.