Come Fly With Me
It’s Tuesday, and I’m sitting in the airport as I write. The guy across from me keeps looking over at me every time I pause in my writing. I promise I’m not writing about you, I try to communicate with my eyes. Well not really.
The past forty-eight hours have blended together. Me, sitting at the airport, hoping to get back to New York and back to the routine of life.
My flight was originally scheduled for Sunday and was delayed and delayed until eventually completely cancelled. I re-booked for a flight this morning, only to see it was cancelled when I woke up. That means I am waiting and sitting around a lot. I am doing what I can with my job. I was able to work remotely all day yesterday and that was helpful. My coworkers are wonderful. Most of all, I’m so glad I was able to spend the weekend away with my family. It was truly special, and I’m beyond grateful I could be there.
Except today I am tired, and I am bored. I feel restless after sitting in terminals and staring at suitcases.
Clearly my last two days were meant to look differently than I anticipated.
Flight delays and severe weather are a very tangible (and often occurring) reminder that I am not in control. I cannot calm the storms. I cannot clear the runways or streets. I cannot do anything to make this plane take off. All I can do is be.
I think God is saying, Hey, Mags, I got this. You just leave it to me.
He is the one navigating my journey.
I write this from the airport, unsure of exactly when I’ll get out of here. I snagged one of those cushy leather chairs with a cup-holder in the armrest, and I have ample leg room since I’m not sitting on the plane. So there’s that.
In my previous post, I wrote about bad habits of mine that I continue to go back to. Just a few days ago, I was explaining how one of my bad habits is planning. Yes, planning. I strategize. I schedule. I plot. I do what I want to do. I planned to fly into New York City on Sunday evening. I was going to pick up a few groceries, order takeout, do laundry, and go to work Monday morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I might have hit up a yoga class after work and then I’d be drinking wine and watching “The Bachelor” with girlfriends.
Obviously that did not happen. (Although my sweet golden retriever provided excellent company for Ben Higgins and me.)
I glance up at my flight information at the gate. I am delayed. Again. For those of you keeping score at home, that’s two cancellations and countless delays. My body is getting tense. I feel my shoulders creeping up, my jaw clenching. I am angry, frustrated, and stir crazy. I am ready to get out of Le Club de Airport and back to reality.
I breathe in. I breathe out. In. Out.
I am not in charge here. My to-do list is not getting tackled today. I am sitting in the airport alone, while the man with the salt-and-pepper hair and goatee next to me talks to someone named Brenda about Heath bars and how he’d like to go to Mexico right about now. You and me both, dude. You and me both.
But for now, we’re at the airport. Plans shattered, calendars completely moot.
Why does that bother me so much? Why do I cling to my calendar, my goals, my plans? Why does that unexpected almost always produced expected distress?
I think it comes down to security. I want security, comfort, and happiness. If my goals are accomplished, if my plans come to fruition, I am happy. Right? Isn’t that how it works? The life plan is engineered to secure happiness and fulfillment.
I stroll (as much as one can stroll while wearing a down jacket and carrying a duffel bag and overpacked purse) to the airport bookstore. The most prominent shelves are lined with books on success, power, happiness, fulfillment. The bestseller list is generally a pretty good indicator of what we humans as a whole are concerned with—ever notice that? I like the security and comfort that comes from taking matters into my own hands and making plans for myself. Judging by these hardcover bestselling tomes, I’d say I am not alone.
“'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord.”
I keep hearing that as I write.
“Plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.”
I’d rather boast about tomorrow than rest in that truth. I’ll tell you about my plans and my schedule—and then they can be completely erased in a mere moment. They don’t provide security. Not really. They feel safe, stable, comforting until a snowstorm blows them away—and I am reminded of the insignificance of my worldly plans.
In its own way, that’s comforting. More comforting is knowing there’s one thing constant and stable through it all.
I’ve written in my testimony how God’s hand of protection has been on me my whole life—through hospital visits, through broken relationships, through multiple moves and a layoff and a job change. His hand is on us during the big stuff. Why would it be any different for our ordinary day-to-day lives?
I can tell you that God cares about the minutiae of our lives. He really does. Even when your flight is cancelled and you're alone at the airport, He's there and He cares. I may not believe this all the time, but it's one of the things I am certain to be true.
No matter where you're at right now—in the airport, on the train, or sitting in your bed after a really long, really hard day—
God is right there with you.
This is know.
I suddenly hear a muffled sound come over the loudspeaker at my gate. A young flight attendant’s soft voice grows loud and clear:
“Those flying to New York, please return to your gate. Your aircraft is here and will begin boarding shortly.”
Half-Birthdays Make You Think
This week marks my half-birthday. In six months, I'll be 26. I've always loved celebrating birthdays, and I've never had a problem with growing older. But this year I'm feeling a little more anxiety around it.
Twenty-six means I've crossed into my late twenties. Twenty-six means saying goodbye to being a post-grad and hello to being a full-on adult. Twenty-six means I'm old enough to get married and have kids. It means I only sometimes have to buy Ikea furniture and two-buck Chuck. It means I'm investing in a retirement account, while still dealing with the occasional acne. Perhaps most importantly, 26 means I definitely cannot get away with belting out Taylor Swift's "22" anymore.
When did that happen?
Ferris Bueller was right—life moves pretty fast. I think that’s especially so when you live in a high-energy city. But even if you don't, we Millennials thrive on a fast-paced lifestyle. There’s always something to do, some new goal to strive for, a new rung of the ladder to climb.
People ask me all the time how long I see myself living in New York City, what's next for me career-wise, when am I going to meet a man and settle down, etc. etc. etc. I don't have answers to these questions. And if I'm being honest, when I hear such questions I start to think about my age and my lack of answers and get a little scared. I begin to believe the lie that I need to have a fully detailed life plan. That I need to plot out exactly what I want, when I want it, and then I need to go after it. I need to just do it.
So I had to laugh when I re-read a Verily article of mine from January of this year. I wrote about embracing the new year—by doing exactly the opposite of what I now feel like I need to do. Case in point:
"I am excited to embrace the adventure in 2015—not by creating some five-year plan, but by instead enjoying the journey and trusting life will happen exactly as it should."
Oh. Hmm.
Not only did I write that, but I also wrote that if I were to make any new year's resolution, it would be to start a fresh relationship with myself. To take care of myself mind, body, and soul. To allow the adventure of the year ahead to unfold and to accept the mess that comes along with that.
My words from January ring true now more than ever. I’m at a point in my life where I don’t quite know what’s next. I’ve been striving for as long as I can remember. I’m always working toward a new goal or achievement. As a kid, I did everything I could to get straight As on my report card. I practiced every day to make the tennis team and then to win matches and tournaments. I maintained my GPA and tests scores to get into my first-choice college. I studied my butt off to graduate with a double major. I did the internships, the extracurriculars, the part-time jobs. And for a while, I also worked hard on my eating disorder. If you’ve already been following my blog, you know the story: I controlled my eating in an attempt to control my life and to truly “have it all.” Another goal added to the ever-growing list, another part of myself lost.
The cycle played itself out again when I relocated to New York City. I relapsed in my recovery and had to seek help for my eating disorder. Thankfully the Lord has provided health, healing, and a whole lot of refinement since then, and I praise Him for that.
Yet the striving continued to play itself out in other areas, especially work. I came to the city for work, and I landed my dream job. But it was a temp situation, so I constantly felt like I had to work harder to be brought on in a more permanent capacity. Eventually the promotion came. Later, a new gig with a bigger title, bigger responsibilities, and bigger dreams.
And let’s not forget relationships. Subconsciously I think I wanted to strive there, too. After moving to NYC, I entered into my first serious relationship. Almost two years later it ended, and not long after that I embarked on another.
Even church was a place to strive. I committed to friendships, community group, a women’s group, Bible studies, volunteer work.
Check, check, check.
You see, working toward a goal is easy for me. Setting my mind to something and going after it has never been a problem. I can look at my past and see God's hand in it. I really try to enjoy the present, and I trust in the future kingdom of heaven. It's that nearer future here on earth that is decidedly more difficult for more to embrace. Twenty-six, 27, 28, 29, and (gasp) 30—ten years ago, I thought those ages seemed so, well, old. Now I'm right there. And don't even get me started on all those lists about the 30 things every woman needs to do before age 30.
Today, at 25.5 years old, I am a single woman working in a steady job, with good friendships and a church community. I have absolutely have no idea when I will meet the right man and get married, or what my next career move will be, or how long I’ll live in New York City. It’s scary to admit that.
But what if I could be fully satisfied in those unknowns? What if I could, as I wrote, enjoy the journey and trust what happens along the way?
Life would probably be a lot more peaceful, and age would truly be nothing but a number.
The Lord gives us free will. We have the ability to make decisions every single day. We make plans and resolutions and goals. We choose how to live our lives, and we have to take an active role in them. At the same time, God knows the plans that He has for us, plans to give us hope and a future. Ultimately, He is the one who directs our steps.
“Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand.”
I'm so grateful that I can make mistakes, and I can have no idea what is next for me—but I can still trust in the Lord in all of that. I can stand in His will and His goodness.
For the next six months, my goals aren’t to get promoted, to become a greater presence at church, or to land a boyfriend. My goal isn’t even to drive more traffic to this website. My goal instead is to surrender. Surrender my mind, my body, my soul to the one who has knit me since before I was born.
Twenty-six, get at me.