Faith to Fly.

Did you notice there are no breezy, joyful, exhilarated, in poor italian posts on this here blog?

that's because i'm not in Europe. My lovely Lindsay and I had set out to enjoy a wonderfully self indulgent holiday exploring Italy, Germany and Paris for 12 days starting last week. In case you are unlike myself and are not glued to CNN hoping Anderson Cooper will be on at any minute, allow me to update you.

A volcano blew up in Iceland. On Thursday. Approximately 8 hrs before I was to be blissfully knocked out and drooling, nestled in a window seat en route to my connection in Amsterdam.

Needless to elaborate, I didn't make it.

However tragic this may seem, I also came to a comforting realization about myself. It's no secret that I think I can do just about anything. Knit a sweater? sure! dig a ditch? of course! navigate a strange land? no problem. I like to think that my delusions have garnered me the ability to be anywhere and hang. This psycho-somatic perspective has saved my ass a lot. Turns out that most of convincing people you're legit is just convincing yourself. The one exception to this 'mighty mingni' syndrome is when travel comes into play. Upon reflection, I have discovered that I am never more faithful than when I am about to embark on a journey. Doesn't matter if I'm driving across the state or flying across the world; I am at peace. I genuinely believe that God will work everything out, and that His mercies follow me everywhere I go. Somewhere in my life I have come to understand that traveling is putting yourself in the midst of a vortex of human traffic, and the only way to enjoy it is to lay back and relax. I always say a little prayer for protection during takeoff, and another of gratitude when landing, but I never doubt in between. Besides, if you are a basket case, the flight attendant might not let you have that extra bag of peanuts.

oh yeah, dont fret about my spoiled plans. i've already conjured up a consolation trip.

Love Love Love.