48 Hours...

Right now, I'm sitting at my favorite table at Lemonjello's Coffee, staring out the window at the trees in front of Pillar Reformed Church across the street. Whenever I need a break from writing, it's where my eyes head. The breeze from Lake Michigan tickles across the little leaves causing a flurry of sun and shadow. I've probably stared at these dancing leaves (or their quiet branches in the winter) hundreds of times in the last eight months.

48 hours from now I will be sitting in Chicago O'hare's International terminal waiting to board my flight to Zurich. I'll probably be staring out the window at planes arriving and departing, wondering about the passengers on board and why they're there. I'll hear gate change announcements and when they say the flight to Barcelona or Sydney is boarding, I'll be tempted to change my ticket - just for a moment.

A small pile of essential supplies for my friends sits in the corner of my bedroom: Reese's Pieces and M&Ms and plastic hangers, things that aren't so easy to find in Swaziland. Three suitcases eagerly wait in my closet, not knowing which one will make the journey. In four years of traveling abroad, I've learned that less is best. If I can get by with one carry-on for ten days in Zambia, can I make fifteen days in Swaziland fit? This is my goal. A lofty one, but a goal nonetheless. My biggest obstacle to overcome: shampoo. If the TSA allowed 5oz products, traveling would be a less arduous task. 

I dreamed of my trip last night. It wasn't a peaceful dream. The details escape me but I woke up anxious, reaching up for my Bible. The pages opened to Isaiah 26:3 - the verse that has been my anxiolytic since 2005 when my counselor stressed the importance of having a verse to meditate on when panic approaches. Hot tears began sliding down either side of my face as I laid on my back, listening to the garbage truck progress on 15th Street. A short conversation with my friend Crystal further put my heart at ease. Enough.

My anxiety catches me off guard. This is my 18th country to visit, most of the ones on my list are developing. Travel doesn't worry me; I'm halfway to a million miles flown. I wonder what the source is. Is it the unknown? The lack of control? The questions about the specific poverty of Swaziland and AIDS and death? The fact the life expectancy in this country is only thirty years old, and I'm thirty two, and my mind doesn't quite know what to do with that?

I'm not sure. But I know I am already being stretched emotionally and spiritually. And in spite of the anxiety that flutters across my spirit like the wind weaves through the leaves in the trees across the street, a perfect peace is given to me. A grace already sufficient waits for me to say yes.