Ramblings from a Fellow Traveler

Well, here I am at the Atlanta airport again! It doesn't seem like too long ago that a certain seminary president and I were stuck in this magic wonderland (yeah, that's sarcasm in case you didn't get it). I'm sitting here in the food court of Terminal E, listening to some pianist try to make a few bucks by offering her renditions of popular favorites while some drunk at the bar tries to accompany her in song.

I wish I could be home now.

I mean, I don't mind the travel, but sometimes I just miss the familiarity of my home: family, friends, my big red lounge chair, my sleep comfort bed, and especially my wife and children.

After a day or so away, I always find myself longing to return to them, to return home.

I know, I know--"Home is where your heart is," or "Home is where you make it" or even "Home is where you hang your hat." However you define it, nothing quite fits like feeling "at home."

Lately I've noticed another longing in my heart, the longing for a place that I've never visited, where friends and family are that I have not seen in a long time. Sometimes I've caught myself looking up at the stars and thinking, "What's it like for my loved ones who have gone 'home'?"

Okay, she's playing "Love Song" now . . . if I could bring a gun into the airport, I might put it to my temple at this point!

Ugh!

Did I tell you I want to come home?

I stayed in a nice Hampton Inn in Atlanta. Great bed, great pillows, wonderful people to help with directions, good food, access to the Internet, etc. But . . .

It ain't home.

I've been thinking too much lately. Sometimes I get a bit melancholy when I think. My dad passed away four years ago around the first week of August. Years before he died his illness robbed him of vitality and verve. My dad was not himself. I'd go to visit him, he wasn't himself. He is now, he is finally "home."

Now the piano is playing some piece of classical music. I think I'm gonna have to move soon.

Where is Starbucks when I need some coffee?

Okay, let's try to be more positive--I'm positive I need coffee.

There, I feel much better.

I heard a preacher on the radio today. He wasn't bad, but I honestly can't remember what he said. I think he was speaking about marriage. I remember that he mentioned George Beasley-Murray, my former seminary professor. Isn't odd what we remember sometimes?

Friday I was running late for the class I was supposed to teach. I drove following new directions I'd never used before in a rented car. You know what I remember the most? I remember the guy in traffic ahead of me apparently pitching a fit because traffic was backed up due to construction. I'm sure he got where he needed to go, but I wonder why I remember that? Of all the stimuli smacking my brain at that time, why do I remember him?

I guess I should be glad I remember things.

Well, I've rambled enough. I have to say that it was an uneventful weekend, but I had an uncanny sense of God being there. Everywhere I turned, I sensed his protection and his kindness. It was a good weekend.

She's playing the theme from "Butch Cassidy" now. If she starts with "Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head" I may scream.

I'm going to find Starbucks. I'm going to have the most caffiene I can get for my money. I'm going to find a kiosk, plug in my computer, read Captain America, and get happy again.

Believe it or not, someone looking a lot like Jerry Lawler just walked by, I think I'll ask for his autograph.

Holy Crap! She's playing "Leaving on a Jet Plane"! My cliche-o-meter is going off the charts.

I will start humming my new favorite praise song (thanks Juan)--"Kill me, kill me, kill me Jesus."

Okay, off to Starbucks. Thanks for reading!