Thoughts on Discipleship (3): Caila
When I came back from summer break, I met with Darcy to discuss the possibility of leading a Bible study. Over the summer, as I’d thought and prayed about it more, I really became excited, though still scared. As I thought through who I’d like to have a BIble study for, the only thing that was clear in my mind was that I did not want to have a Bible study for Greek girls (sorority girls), for the same reason that I was not interested in Jeff Patterson whatsoever (he was the president of Lambda Chi). In my little mind sorority girls were shallow, vain, and prone to passed-out-drunkenness. No thanks. (I’ve since become a little less judgmental I promise!). So, during my first meeting with Darcy, what does she say? “So I’ve been thinking about it and would really like you to join with another girl and co-lead a Bible study for sorority girls.” What? Why me? I was not a sorority girl! What on earth would I have in common with them? I had to shake my head at this, at God obviously pushing me past my judgments and prejudices…to minister to the very girls I’d been prejudiced against.
Meeting Caroline, my co-leader, put my mind at ease. She was wonderful!!! She had been in a sorority but was now living out during her senior year, and we hit it off immediately. Within a few weeks, our Bible study was announced, and we began meeting in her little one-bedroom apartment off campus.
I was terrified. Fortunately Caroline was more experienced, so each week we would meet to pray and prepare our lesson, then go back and forth sharing parts, opening discussions with the girls, and praying with them. We divied up the girls so that we’d each meet with several of them one-on-one during the week and generally “keep tabs” on them, so to speak. Darcy would meet with us periodically to see how things were going, pray for us, and help disciple us in our own walks with the Lord.
At the end of Fall semester, Caroline graduated, leaving me on my own. She’d gone out of her way to pay special attention to one girl in particular, a quiet, little blond girl from Hawaii who looked scared out of her wits. Her name was Caila. Caroline insisted that Caila had something special about her, and asked me to please keep meeting regularly with her now that she would be gone. I didn’t have much of a connection with Caila, but promised her I would. I don’t remember things necessarily taking off right away. She was quiet and seemed shy, and didn’t seem too eager to open up her life. I’d visit her at her sorority, try to talk to her about her personal life, and meet with her for coffee whenever possible. But weeks would go by when I wouldn’t hear from her, and I wasn’t sure that it was really worth the effort.
Something changed Caila’s sophomore year. You’ll have to ask her for the details, but Caila became transformed as she fell more and more in love with Jesus. During her four years at OSU, and then her three years on staff with Real Life, she quickly became my prized disciple and friend. It didn’t take long for her to surpass me in wisdom, maturity, and excellence in teaching the Bible and leading others. She soon began her own small group, discipling shy little freshmen (she wasn’t shy any more!!) girls just like she had once been. She joined me on a mission trip to Brasil, acted with me in the Real Life Spring Dramas, and after college, she became the House Manager for the House of Charis, a Christian girl’s home, where she oversaw, mothered, and shepherded more than 50 girls each year. She now excels as writer, mother, wife, woman of God, and discipler of others. I could never have dreamed how God would use Caila’s life for His glory. To Him be the glory, who sees what we cannot.
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I share these stories because it illustrates for me, again and again, why a simple life poured out is worth it. Countless times I have had girls come up to me and say, “Thank you for pouring into Caila. My life is changed because of her.” Is that not the coolest thing? And I have to just say, thank you for Elisa and Darcy (among many others!), who have poured into my life. And they have others to thank, and we all ultimately thank our Lord Jesus, who so brilliantly uses imperfect men and women to raise up other men and women to walk with Him. Because of Elisa and Darcy, God let me minister to (and learn from!) more than 50 girls in small group discipleship groups through college, then more while on staff through Real Life. Of course, only a few were close discipleship relationships, but through Caila’s life alone at least another 100 lives have been touched and changed and transformed by God’s grace in her years of college ministry. Do you see what happens? Divine multiplication, transforming lives by His grace. Is this because we are great? No! It is because God in His grace chose to use simple women to help us along the way, and then we respond by letting Him use us, simple women, to help others along the way. This is discipleship, and this should be our life.
Not all of us will be in a formal disciple situation. But we’re all called to disciple (Matt. 28:18). In the next few posts, we’ll look at just a few of the principles and pitfalls that have emerged from the years described above. I learned a lot by failure, and I cringe when I look back at how often I did it wrong! But God! But God is so good, so big, so able to use our feeble attempts for glorious results. I pray we’d never let fear of “doing it wrong” keep us from helping others along the way.
Thoughts on Discipleship (2): Darcy
Just a few months after beginning my new adventure as Elisa’s disciple, my roommate and I decided to quit the solo Christian act and actually attend a Campus Crusade for Christ meeting. We’d begun hanging around Crusade (CRU) circles, and over and over I’d heard the name Darcy mentioned. Apparently this woman named Darcy was every girls’ hero. She seemed to have “discipled” (the word now rolled right off my tongue without any effort) innumerable girls and was the stellar pick of the group.
Once again, I marvel at my roommate’s and my willingness and eagerness to jump in with both feet. At our very first CRU meeting (at which, I might mention, Jeff Patterson was the emcee and I remember thinking “That’s the kind of guy my mom would want me to marry.”), we heard the announcement for the annual Cove Palisades trip. Without hesitation, we both signed up to go (now you couldn’t get me to go camping with a bunch of strangers if my life depended upon it…sad how we change with age). I can still see the expression on Darren Holland’s face when we went to sign up. Now I can read his thoughts, “Wow, this is your first time here and you’re signing up for the trip! Awesome!” He was delighted.
As we picked up our bags and got ready to leave, a little wide-eyed, curly-haired, doll-faced girl came up to me. “Are you Kari?” She asked. My eyes were wide. How did she know me? “Yeah,” I said cautiously. “Oh! I once had a horse named Kari!” She said with enthusiasm bubbling over. I nodded slowly. She continued, “I’m Darcy. It’s nice to meet you.” Aha! This was Darcy. I relaxed and held out my hand, wondering again why she’d singled me out. We chatted for a moment, then I was off. There were only a few more weeks until the end of school, so I headed off for the summer without much more connection with her, although she asked for my home address…
Later that summer, a letter arrived in the mail. A five or six page letter (again?!), from Darcy. Apparently she knew, like Elisa, that openness and vulnerability is the name of the game, because she too shared her whole testimony with me, including her long struggle with an eating disorder and the victory she’d found in Christ. I was amazed, once again, at her honesty and humility, and found myself shaking my head wondering, “Why me? Why would she single me out?” As he letter ended she suggested to me that I pray about leading a Bible study the following year. Me? Lead a Bible study! I’d only started attending! What did I have to offer? I’d only just heard about “disciple” being a verb and now I was supposed to start “discipling”? THough it scared me a bit, something inside me knew this was exactly the direction I was supposed to take…
LiveDifferent Challenge (25): Just Ask
I recently wrote a post for goingtoseminary.com about discovering the um-mined treasure that is the seminary faculty, and it got me thinking about how much we probably all miss out on simply because we do not ask.
I remember when Jeff and I were engaged, we’d made a point of spending time with couples whose marriages we admired. Young and old alike, we’d ask questions: How do you do it? What are three things you wish you knew when you got married? What is something that surprised you about marriage? Just asking questions of these folks, those who had gone before us, unearthed a wealth of wisdom we tucked away for our early marriage days. I am so glad we did.
When I was pregnant, my mind swam with the questions. Of course I read books (Whoever wrote What to Expect When You’re Expecting is a gazillionaire), but the best advice was from people. People I knew, young and old, moms who’d walked the path before, who could give real life answers and advice for the days to come. And again, I’m so glad I did.
I”m not sure why, perhaps because we are so stubbornly individualistic these days, but there is definitely a air about our society that insists “I can do it myself.” But how much we miss out on! And how many opportunities to honor those ahead of us that we’ve missed because we just don’t take the time to ask. I can say from experience that not many things are more honoring than being asked for advice. Maybe it’s just me, but it makes me feel so special! I remember when my dear friend Candi first had her baby, and she’d often just call and say, “Uh…green poop. What’s the deal?” or “Incessant spit-up. Any ideas?” It blessed and honored me that she would even think to call me, and it was a treat to be able to offer whatever I could (which probably wasn’t much). Jeff and I often ask my parents for their advice on everything–and they in turn respect us by only offering when we ask. 🙂
I recently took an extensive personality/temperament evaluation and somehow the test thing determined that I was above-average in “image management”, meaning that I am concerned with what other people think of me. Gulp. Guilty as charged. I realized that perhaps that’s why I tend not to ask questions in class or offer answers unless I’m really sure they are right or well thought out or intelligent. I don’t like asking sometimes because I’m afraid I’ll look like an idiot. But the truth is–we’re all a bundle of questions about everything, and how much we’d grow if we humbled ourselves and asked. And what I’m learning? It doesn’t take a crisis or a huge life-change like babies or marriage to necessitate the asking of questions. Just this week my sister-in-law showed me this amazing park that is walking distance from our (her) house. I thought to myself, “Why didn’t I know about this before?!” and then I realized…because I never asked her. A simple question–hey can you tell me where the good parks are? would have meant discovering the park gold mine a month earlier.
So try it out. Ask a question. Sit down with a grandparent and ask what are the biggest lessons they’ve learned in life. Sit down with a teacher. Ask your parents about marriage. Ask a friend to go further into explaining what really makes her tick. Ask the waitress what his or her favorite meal is. Ask your kids what makes them happy and what makes them sad. Ask your spouse to share three things that make him or her feel loved. Ask in order to gain wisdom, and ask in order to grow in your love and understanding of people. Ask to draw people out. Ask to grow. There’s so much more I think we can learn…if we just ask.
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Ok, silly little application of this post, but today we had our ultrasound and discovered that it is Heidi Elizabeth Patterson who will be joining our family in February! Yay! 🙂 Afterwards, we decided to celebrate by going to Burgerville because Heidi likes fries. 🙂 Since Dutch also likes fries we each ordered a large to share with him. WHen our order arrived the fries were teeny, looked like smalls to me. I am not one to ask about order problems at restaurants, so I tried to get Jeff to do it for me, but he was keeping Dutch from climbing over the top of the booth. Forget it, I thought–it’s no big deal. But then, another thought: Just ask. Hm. Ok, took it up and in my timid little sweet voice, said “Um, are these larges?” and the lady was the manager and she said “No! In fact, you take those and I’ll get you two new orders!” Anyway, to make a long story short, she blessed us with tons of fries (which I was happy to eat since Dutch and I had walked the three miles to my ultrasound appointment), and then even came back and visited, celebrated our baby with us, talked about her own kids, and then went and got Dutch a special blue balloon. As I left, with my happy full tummy, I thought how simple that was–just to ask (and ask nicely!). She was happy to oblige, we were happy to receive, and I think she was even blessed by joining in our special celebration. Ask and you shall receive. 🙂
Thoughts on Discipleship (1): Elisa
This coming Monday I have the joy of teaching a class on Women’s Discipleship at Multnomah. As I’ve been praying, brainstorming, and recollecting, I’ve been blessed remembering the women who have taught me to so much through their lives poured out. My dear friend, Caila Murphy, has shared her thoughts as well, as I asked for her input from her own experience. Over the next few days I’ll post what stands out to me–the stories, the lessons, the pitfalls to avoid. I pray it can be helpful.
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I remember the first time I heard the word disciple used as a verb. I’d grown up in a Christian home, had gone to church all my life, and knew the basic Bible stories and why Jesus died on the cross. I knew that there were Jesus’ disciples, and I knew that as Christians we were in a sense called to be Christ’s disciples. But my freshman year of college, when I finally began to grow in my walk with God and fall in love with HIm as my Lord and Savior, I heard a girl in Bible study mention that she was “discipled” by so-and-so. Hm? Discipled? What does that mean, I thought. I love looking back at my precious freshman faith. I was so eager to grow and learn I was like a sponge. I’d recently broken off a long-term relationship and felt like I was a brand new baby in the Lord: Everything was new. I began reading my Bible constantly, naively talking to drunken frat guys about Jesus (!), and inviting girls in my dorm to the little “Bible study” my roommate and I began (most of the girls who attended probably weren’t even believers…even better!). So, when I heard that there was apparently some sort of “discipling” taking place that I knew nothing about, I wanted to do it too!
I deduced from her explanation that discipling basically meant being mentored in the things of the Lord, being helped along on one’s journey in Christ. That made sense. So, I figured that whoever discipled me (as she called it) should be someone that I wanted to be like, since that’s kind of what mentoring is, right? I mean Jesus’ disciples’ goal was to be like Him. Well after scoping out the possibilities, I decided that Elisa Smith was the one I wanted to be. Amazingly godly, stunningly gorgeous (I know, shallow me), and she loved her husband and three children admirably. Yes, I want to be like her, I thought. I hardly knew her at all, had probably only talked to her once in my life, but I quickly decided to give it a shot. I wrote her a letter that basically went something like this:
Dear Elisa,
I heard about this cool thing called “discipling”. Will you “disciple” me? I’d really appreciate it. Thanks.
Love, Kari.
That was pretty much it. I’m sure she thought I was crazy. But about a week later I received a letter back from her, explaining that she would be honored, blessed, and delighted to “disciple” me, but only under one condition. Only if we would be friends. She wanted to just be my friend, and then see how the discipleship part would play out as God saw fit.
I was stunned. My friend? She wanted to be my friend? Beautiful, godly, mature Elisa wanted to be my friend? Well I’ll be! I was already getting more than I bargained for. I happily wrote her back and said thank you and yes please and oh yes I would do whatever she wanted. Since we lived 1.5 hours away, getting together regularly posed sort of a problem, but again she wasn’t concerned. She said God would work out the details in time. I thought about this. Lesson #1.
Within a few weeks she wrote me a letter, about a five or six page letter, all hand-written, sharing her life-story with me. Once again, I was stunned. She was perfect, right? But her story revealed pain, heartache, struggle, failure. You mean she wasn’t perfect? You mean her story was really just one of God’s amazing redemptive grace? Lesson #2. And she was willing to be honest and humble and vulnerable with me? Already? She was willing to let me see her imperfections, to open her life up to me? She was basically opening her arms, allowing me to step inside the sphere of her life if I wanted. She was inviting me to do the same, to open up my life, to reveal the wounds, the pain, the imperfections. Perhaps, I thought, perhaps God could write such a story with my life too. Perhaps He could. Perhaps He would. Lesson #3.
Love Lures Us Out of Ourselves
This morning I just woke up sour. I had bizarre dreams all night (pregnancy is infuriating like that), and woke up unsure of what was real and what was dreamt. The house was hot, I felt unrested, and then I did the stupidest thing in the world–went in the bathroom and weighed myself (I know, I was asking for trouble). What?! How on earth can I be gaining weight at this rate? I never thought it was possible to gain 2 pounds every single week. Getting dressed made things worse–nothing fits, and since I’m doing this blessed clothing fast 🙂 I don’t have the option to even go get new clothes. My hair is ratty and gross, a zit stands out on my left cheek. So by the time I get downstairs a cheery “Good morning sweetie!” is not about to cross my lips. I opt for silence, which is usually the best choice, and after making breakfast, Jeff comes in for a kiss and good morning. I lean into his chest and mope. I can feel crumbs under my feet (how does one little boy filthy an entire house?) and as I glance out the sliding glass door (which I cleaned yesterday in order to show the house), I see muddy handprints smeared around the 3-foot-high mark. *Sigh*
It’s mornings like these, totally void of real tragedy but full of little downers, that can just be discouraging. But what sticks out to me about this morning was the tenacious grace of my husband. Instead of leaving early as he usually does, he lingered around longer than normal. He got Dutch up, made his oatmeal, and sat with him so I could make myself somewhat more presentable. He read Dutch’s BIble to him, then even got on the floor and played cowboys and indians. Innumerable hugs, encouragment, and insistance that he still thinks I’m hot filled the morning, until he finally left at 9am. He never grew impatient, never lectured me, never preached and told me to shape up. He just loved me. And love is the greatest motivator on earth. Paul said that the love of Christ compelled him. It was the love of Christ that inspired Paul’s service. It was not guilt nor lecturing. Love. ANd it is the love of Jeff this morning that slowly pulled me from my little wallowing pit of self-pity. It is love that lures us out of ourselves. It wasn’t a lecture, or an exhortation to get over myself. It was just quiet attention, extra care, a dose of affection, and unconditional love. I’m thankful for that today. Thanks, hon. You teach me a lot every day.
A Thought
I want to see God do great things. But most of all I just want to see God.
Sunday with My Son
Just a Mommy post:
Today I’ve done something I’ve never done before, said goodbye to my hubby as he left at 7am to be at church for sound and set-up…then rolled over and went back to sleep. 🙂 After a packed weekend of travel for a friend’s wedding, we arrived home late last night and Dutch was exhausted, I felt a sore throat coming on, and since we only have one car (I know, I know, we need to just quit being stubborn and buy another car!), it meant getting Dutch up early and keeping him up through his nap yet another day. So…basically I prayed last night and felt like maybe the best option was for Dutch and me to have a quiet church service at home. I vascillated, Jeff insisted, and the rest is history…we stayed home.
I never could have expected what a sweet morning it would be with my boy. I slept in, stayed in my pjs, then got Dutch up who was still in his wedding clothes from the night before. After we ate a leisurely oatmeal breakfast and took a bath, I explained that today was the day that we normally go and worship God with all the other people, because it is the Lord’s special day, but that today we were going to have a special church service at home, just Dutch and Mommy, and we were going to read our Bibles and pray together. When I said this he ran into the living room and grabbed his little children’s Bible and brought it to me and pointed to our little spot on the floor next to the couch. My heart melted. Really?! Was this actually going to work! We read through about 1/3 of his whole Bible (not many preachers get through a 1/3 of the Bible in one Sunday morning! :-), and then we played a little more. Then I thought I’d really give a challenge and told him now we were going to each sit and read our own Bibles, Dutch with his and Mommy with hers and we were going to sit on the couch and read quietly. To my amazement he crawled up and snuggled next to me on the couch and opened his Bible and we sat there and read our Bibles for almost 15 minutes together…ok is this the most precious moment a mommy could ask for? Then we prayed together (ok, he closed his eyes for one second, then watched me pray), and then he went back to playing while I finished my Bible reading. Then he got to have a trip to the park to play because he was so good. After a mommy-low-point yesterday (at the wedding a perfect stranger walked up and informed me that Dutch had BITTEN her son…oh dear), I was thankful for a treat like this.
Anyway, I know it’s a small thing, but I was just so blessed to have a special morning at home with my boy. Later we picnicked on the back deck and ate popscicles in the sunshine. Yes, later he filled his dump truck full of dirt and then dumped it on the floor inside…but hey, he is still a little boy!
So I’m thankful today for my special little church service with my boy. I LOVE attending Sunday worship celebrations with God’s people, and I take seriously the exhortation to “not forsake the assembling of ourselves together”, but for just this day I am so thankful for the freedom we have in Christ, that WE are the church, and that He meets with us even in the little things of life, little things like a morning at home with my son.
Felt Needs vs. Real Needs
Jeff had the privilege this week of attending a seminary by Kent Hughes, author of many books including Disciplines of a Godly Man. He actually also was blessed enough to sit by him at lunch! He feverishly scribbled down as many notes as he could, then shared with me when he got home. There were countless little nuggets, but one in particular stood out to me: Are we minstering to our congregations felt needs or real needs? This is not a new debate. Are we seeker friendly or not? I personally think that any church that preaches the pure true gospel is seeker friendly, but the debate has come to whether or not we should meet people at their point of felt need.
I’m no expert on this topic, but I will say that I think we are guilty, in general, as the church, by watering down our message to make it simply apply to felt needs. It is good to find a meeting point between the average Joe and some spiritual truth, but too often we go to such extremes to be meet the need of the person, we fail to recognize what their real need really is. Our felt needs include things like financial security, love, support, stability, peace. These are legitimate needs. But our real needs are things that are deeper–reconciliation with Christ, power over the bondage of sin, freedom from the lies of the enemy, courage and boldness to impact the world for Christ, humility to lose ourselves and live for the glory of God. Most people would not list these are their top ten needs, but the truth is this is what they are dying for.
I wish I had the answer. I don’t think we’ll ever get it perfect, but perhaps we can just aim more and more to minister to people at their point of real need. Perhaps we set our expectations too low, thinking people don’t want meat, and if we take away their milk they’ll run away. I suspect that nine times out of ten they’ll rise to the challenge, grab their steak knives, and dive in to the feast. Why? Because most people are hungrier than they even realize. And no endless cups of milk will satisfy a true spiritual craving for truth–the kind that addresses one’s real need.
So, those are just thoughts for today. Lord, help me know what I really need.
LiveDifferent Challenge (24): Take out the Trash!
You know it’s been almost six months of doing these LiveDifferent Challenges, and I have refrained from mentioning TV. Mostly because I don’t want anyone to get the idea that I’m a legalistic weirdo who thinks TVs are evil. They aren’t. Just because we don’t have one doesn’t mean we think they are inherently bad. They aren’t. The second reason was that all the people who I know read this blog don’t have a problem with watching too much TV, so it didn’t seem relevant. But this week I read a fun article about People Who Live Without TV, and I thought it was fascinating. I would not call myself a “religious right ultraconservative” person, (as the author does) in fact I love “crunchy granola” and I recycle religiously, I just want to live a life as pleasing to Christ as possible, so call me what you will.
Growing up we always owned a TV, but didn’t really watch it. I can remember Little House on the Prairie and renting The Wilderness Family from the library, and sometimes being allowed to watch The Dukes of Hazard with my dad, but other than that I don’t remember really watching TV. It certainly wasn’t a daily occurrence. So, I think maybe that is part of the reason that I have no interest in it. It’s not a discipline for me to not have a TV, it’s a preference. I’d have to agree with the woman in the article who simply said, “It’s just something I don’t want in the home – it’s a perpetual annoyance, like a gnat.” Agreed.
But even more than that, what disturbs me about television is the trash that is on it. I think perhaps because I’m not accustomed to it, it shocks me even more when I see the boobs, butts, sexual innuendos, and downright disgusting humor that has become the norm on today’s TV. Christians certainly aren’t called to live in a bubble, but if I can choose to limit my family’s exposure to trash, I will! For the same reason that I don’t feed them Cheetos and white Minute Rice–because I love them.
We actually used to own a TV, which was a Christmas present. Where we’ve chosen to draw the line is at cable. I have no problem with the physical box that is a TV, and if we can tweak some rabbit ears and get the news or some educational documentary on PBS that’s great, but choosing to pay a monthly fee so that trash can be streaming directly into our home is not for me. We already pay a monthly fee to have our trash taken away from our house! I don’t want it back! 🙂
Jeff and I do enjoy curling up together occasionally and watching a movie. In the last six months we’ve been blessed to see Cinderella Man, Amazing Grace, and A Series of Unfortunate Events. There is no black and white answer to how one’s household should deal with the TV, but if we don’t think and pray and act intentionally, with the aim of making our home as Christlike as possible, I’m afraid the trash sneaks in and pretty soon the entire house smells like the garbage of the world.
So this week, just think about it. I’m not saying you have to toss your TV in the trash. Someday perhaps we’ll own another one. But consider what is allowed to sneak into your home. Think of yourself as a guard–protecting you and your family from the garbage that the world is trying to sell. I have enough trouble keeping the mind of Christ as it is–I don’t need any more competition from the world! The pull is strong enough!
When in doubt, maybe just fast TV for a week. Encourage your kids and husband to join you. Read the paper. Check the news online. Read a book. Go outside. Go for a walk or lie in the grass. Whatever you decide, guard your precious heart from any garbage you don’t need. Take out the trash…and leave it there.
The Path to 9/11
I recently had the privilege of watching the entire 5-hour dramatized story of the September 11th tragedy, called The Path to 9/11. I am not proud of the fact that I am embarrassingly ignorant about politics, world news, and governmental goings on. I’m getting better, but somehow that portion of our homeschool curriculum just didn’t stick. But I was intrigued by this film, and thankful for investing the time to watch it, and left more thankful than ever for how God protected me on that tragic day seven years ago.
On September 10th, 2001 I was in Brasil on a mission trip with a group of students from OSU. Our team leaders, Ryan and Darcy Sugai, were staying in Brasil, so another team member, Matt, and myself were the leaders for the trip back. We were basically just a bunch of kids, and Matt and I did the best we could to corral the group in the right direction (all we thought we had to do was make one transfer at the Miami airport). We flew into Miami early Tuesday morning, September 11th, ate Cinnabon rolls during our two-hour layover (isn’t it interesting how the particulars stick out to you looking back on tragic days?). After cinnamon rolls we brushed our teeth, and embarked on our plane, a United Airlines flight, with a full fuel tank, scheduled to take us cross-country to Portland after a quick stop in Atlanta. The flight wasn’t full, so after flying all night long from Sao Vicente, Brasil, we were thrilled to stretch out and pray for some much-needed shut-eye.
I awoke from my sleep to a voice over the intercom, “Please put your seat in the full and upright position, tray tables locked in place, please stow any carry-on bags you may have and discontinue use of electronic devices at this time.” I stayed where I was, thinking I must be dreaming, knowing we’d only been in the air for maybe an hour tops. Soon an attendant came and laid a hand on my shoulder, “Miss, up please. Now.” She sounded urgent, and as I rubbed my eyes in confusion, sitting up and slipping on my shoes, a little chill ran down my spine. What was going on? Soon the pilot came on explaining that Air Traffic Control was commanding all flights in US airspace to emergency land immediately. All planes in the U.S.? He explained that he didn’t know the cause but we were emergency landing in Birmingham, Alabama immediately. As we landed in the tiny airport, the landing strip in no way equipped for a plane of our size, we taxied out into the middle of a large field, where we were told to get off the plane, carrying nothing–no purses, no carry-ons, nothng. So, with nothing but the clothes on our back, confused and a a little unnerved, we obediently disembarked, and joined the other blurry eyed passengers in the middle of the field. I realized all of a sudden that Matt and I better be ready to lead a little more than we’d anticipated. We circled hands with the team and began to pray, and it was then that a woman on her cell phone became hysterical, saying the Two Towers of the World Trade Center had been the target of terrorist attack–with hijacked flights flown directly into them. We were stunned, beyond words, slowly realizing how incredibly blessed we were to even be alive.
After an hour in the field, they let us into the airport, but we couldn’t leave the terminal. We had no purses, and no money for food, but no one was interested in eating. When we walked into the airport, every TV in every restaurant carried the same news. Thousands were dead, another plan was hijacked. The U.S. was under attack. I realized then with horror that every single person had families at home, families wondering if our flight was hijacked. Cell phones were useless–no service. We took turns making collect calls back home. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath, in shock, until I heard my dad’s voice, full of anxiety. “Hello??” “Daddy, I’m safe!” I could hear him break down crying, which of course made me do that same. I heard him whisper, “She’s ok” to my mom. Eventually I managed to explain we were in Birmingham and had no idea what would happen next. But we were safe, and with that news they were content.
What we thought was perhaps an hour or two delay ended up being five days. With hundreds of other stranded passengers, we curled up on the floor to nap, waiting for news. Eventually night came, and we were told that there was no promise of when flights would resume. With no local contacts and no money, Matt and I and the team began to pray–where would we stick 18 college students? United AIrlines graciously arranged for lodging for us at a nearby hotel, and soon the shuttle came to take us to our new temporary home, in Birmingham, Alabama.
Our five days in Alabama actually were a miracle. A local church heard of our plight and volunteered to take us in. They took us out to dinner, arranged for transportation to church for their midweek service where they prayed for us, and even took one guy and one girl from our team to Kmart to buy bulk packages of underwear (size Medium…we figured that was a safe call) and toothbrushes for the group. As for clothes, we traded back and forth, pairing skirts with each others’ t-shirts and washing socks in the sink. The hotel we were at actually had a beautiful indoor pool…but alas, no swimsuits. The girls shared chapstick and a tube of mascara, and we all bonded more in 5 days than we had on the entire trip thus far. It was an adventure, but an emotional one, as each day drug on longer and longer, our clothes getting smellier, our hearts getting more and more homesick, the emotional up and down of each day hoping for a flight and each day learning there were no flights. Each day was filled with news, the paper, and the realization that we were amongst the more fortunate of Americans, to have our lives and our loved ones.
So today, seven years later, I’m thankful but sobered. I’m not a very patriotic person, just meaning that I identify myself as a Christian, not as an American. However, I would say that my generation has lost something, in that we take for granted so much that our ancestors fought, sacrificed, and died for. We criticize our country while we drive around our SUVs and sit in our nice homes, safe and secure and financially free. While I don’t worship this country, I will never stop being thankful for the freedom, security, and peace that I enjoy here. And this day reminds me never to take that for granted.
I guess I just wanted to reflect today, both on a personal level–how thankful I am for God’s protection seven years ago, and on a national level, how blessed we are to live in this country. I pray for humble and thankful hearts for the American people, for a return to the ways of the Lord, and for knees to bow to the one true King who is Lord of every tribe, tongue, and nation. And I pray we would never take for granted the freedom we enjoy in this country. Thank You, Father.