God, I hate to fly.
It used to be such a positive/pleasurable/privileged/pampered experience; especially in the good old days of Piedmont.
Now, the word hassle comes to mind; or as Sis wrote to me, "If flying is safe, why do they call the airport the terminal?"
I flew to Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania through Milwaukee and Detroit last week to visit my parents, sister, and assorted relatives, play golf, and eat several varieties of the best pizza in America.
Buoyed by unconditional family love and a full belly, I played well; though I kept wondering if not being able to buy new clubs anymore has actually improved my...
I thought about a parallel often shared in pastoral care: "Your greener pasture was someone else's brown field."
Maybe that's why I go home to eat pizza.
Parenthetically, I really never felt that far away from my newer home.
I spent several hours every day dealing with a minor eruption back at the church about changing the location/liturgy of one of our three worship services before it even got onto the docket of any meeting, counseling members and non-members referred to me by members and non-members, begging my spiritual and biological Belvidere families to wait to welcome me back with more hassles, and...
Most of it, frankly, seems rather small in juxtaposition to the global/national insecurities being fueled by religious terrorists (Ain't Welsh Presbyterians!), wars in countries that don't want us there anyway/anyhow/anytime/anymore (Can you believe we're footing the bill for that Karzai nutball?), an economy that looks as robust/steady as Larry King and as appealing/stable as Joy Behar, American political parties that act like The Three Stooges, and a President who throws money around like he's on liberty from military service that is as far away from his personal experience as too many mainliners are to Jesus while acting like he's the product of entitlements and never had a real job with any real responsibilities until, uh, now.
Staying with hassles by getting back to last week's flying around, I put the new Albom book in my golf bag that cost another $90 over the initial $25 to transport which meant I had to pass the time by reading Delta's Sky magazine (April 2010) after paging through Sky Mall (Early Spring 2010) with products that reminded me of the life-changing discussions of worship location/liturgy: Digital Camera Swim Mask, Underwater Pogo Stick, Canine Genealogy Kit, Spy Pen, and Garden Yeti.
I didn't get an aisle seat for any connection and there were no barf bags around.
I had to surrender another Swiss Army penknife to security.
When I asked a woman in a Delta uniform behind the counter who was flirting with a pilot to help locate the gate for the connection from Detroit to Wilkes-Barre that had been changed while flying from Milwaukee to Detroit, she said between drools, "I'm not a gate agent." I said with a strained smile, "I know you two are discussing important corporate matters; but you are standing at the computer and..."
I got off the plane in Wilkes-Barre, checked my cellular for messages, and then wished I hadn't, uh, checked my cellular.
My mom greeted me: "Guess who died?"
It was Jack.
I felt badly.
I didn't like Jack; but I still felt badly for his family.
We graduated together.
Maybe I felt badly because...
Maybe it's kinda like changing the location/liturgy...
Do we really understand agape or rationalize it according to our navels?
Maybe that flirt in the uniform struck too close to home.
God, I hate flying.
I love family.
Flying got me there and back a lot sooner than the cage; and the weather was too iffy for the mule.
I did learn two big lessons while, uh, in the air.
First, there was environmental crusader Jane Goodall's plea in Sky: "Surely we can use our problem-solving abilities, our brains, to find ways to live in harmony with nature."
No Calvinist buys that; though it's a nice thought reminiscent of smoking weed in the 60s.
Second, Gary Player quipped during the Masters Par 3 Tournament on 4/7/10, "Change is the price of survival."
That's why I fly.
All of the preceding is parabolic/metaphorical.
If I have to explain...
Blessings and Love!
Post a Comment