Thursday, March 20, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
WOW! More later...
Check it out:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8pONZns1Mq0
My pastor is the one with the shaved head and the Elevation shirt in this video...but now his haired is grown out a bit and bleached. :-)
www.stevenfurtick.com
I LOVE MY CHURCH and the Unleash conference I went to today was AWESOME!
Check it out:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8pONZns1Mq0
My pastor is the one with the shaved head and the Elevation shirt in this video...but now his haired is grown out a bit and bleached. :-)
www.stevenfurtick.com
I LOVE MY CHURCH and the Unleash conference I went to today was AWESOME!
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Well, I've officially lost my readership due to my sporadic posts, so now I can write to myself.
Memories of a 15 yr. old.
Arriving at the airport wishing with all my heart that I didn't have to leave to go back to school. Every moment spent in Jeddah, a nostalgic memory. Standing just outside the security check point having to say good-bye again and wishing I didn't while my parents hug me good-bye and tell me to keep my chin up. I so wanted them to admit being as miserable as I was- the honesty desired by a 15 yr. old.
As I entered the ugly brown room reserved for women to be security scanned and smell the henna tatooed women, I raise my arms and turn around half heartedly, trying to hold my emotions in check.
After gathering my bags from the x-ray belt, I wander over to the gate area to await my hydrolic bus that will take me to the plane. It's 12a.m., only one hour til departure. A horrible hour, but the only hour that will get us to New York by 8 a.m. when the airport begins to come to life. The bus finally comes and we enter. I try to stand near the front to avoid the crush of people and body odor that fills the bus. The bus lowers and makes its way across the tarmac to our awaiting 747, raises back up into the air and deposits us in the doorway of our plane. The air is sticky and humid, but I'm still sad to leave.
As I enter the plane, the stench of cigarettes, Eu de Toilet, and tasteless string beans served in foil trays assaults my nostrils. I make my way to my seat, only to find myself placed between 2 very large Arab men who enjoy smoking the entire flight (13 hours). I curl up as best I can, place a wet hand towel over my nose, cover my head with a blanket, and cry myself to sleep.
I know that when I get to New York, I will have to get my baggage and wrestle it onto a bus to travel from JFK to Laguardia to then fly to Columbia, SC.
I'm on my way back to a boarding school I hate to be met by no-one, because the houseparents find it more convenient to arrive between student arrivals and I am the first to arrive. So I sit alone in the airport trying to look aloof and seem like I don't care, when in truth I am dying inside.
Eleven years later, my parents came to visit me overseas. Upon their departure, they were shedding the tears and admitted to tears on the way home from the airport in the car all those years ago. It's comforting to know that the feeling was mutual.
Memories of a 15 yr. old.
Arriving at the airport wishing with all my heart that I didn't have to leave to go back to school. Every moment spent in Jeddah, a nostalgic memory. Standing just outside the security check point having to say good-bye again and wishing I didn't while my parents hug me good-bye and tell me to keep my chin up. I so wanted them to admit being as miserable as I was- the honesty desired by a 15 yr. old.
As I entered the ugly brown room reserved for women to be security scanned and smell the henna tatooed women, I raise my arms and turn around half heartedly, trying to hold my emotions in check.
After gathering my bags from the x-ray belt, I wander over to the gate area to await my hydrolic bus that will take me to the plane. It's 12a.m., only one hour til departure. A horrible hour, but the only hour that will get us to New York by 8 a.m. when the airport begins to come to life. The bus finally comes and we enter. I try to stand near the front to avoid the crush of people and body odor that fills the bus. The bus lowers and makes its way across the tarmac to our awaiting 747, raises back up into the air and deposits us in the doorway of our plane. The air is sticky and humid, but I'm still sad to leave.
As I enter the plane, the stench of cigarettes, Eu de Toilet, and tasteless string beans served in foil trays assaults my nostrils. I make my way to my seat, only to find myself placed between 2 very large Arab men who enjoy smoking the entire flight (13 hours). I curl up as best I can, place a wet hand towel over my nose, cover my head with a blanket, and cry myself to sleep.
I know that when I get to New York, I will have to get my baggage and wrestle it onto a bus to travel from JFK to Laguardia to then fly to Columbia, SC.
I'm on my way back to a boarding school I hate to be met by no-one, because the houseparents find it more convenient to arrive between student arrivals and I am the first to arrive. So I sit alone in the airport trying to look aloof and seem like I don't care, when in truth I am dying inside.
Eleven years later, my parents came to visit me overseas. Upon their departure, they were shedding the tears and admitted to tears on the way home from the airport in the car all those years ago. It's comforting to know that the feeling was mutual.
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