June 17, 2003

I am writing this on a plane—next to some guy chewing tobacco. That is so gross. He is reading Men’s Health magazine. Duh! So anyway, I had no traffic en route to the airport—first time. This is the 7th flight I have been on since mid-April, the 9th since November. This doesn’t even seem like ME. This flight is 2 ½ hours. I will fly to Orange County, CA in the same time it would take me to drive to Fort Worth, Texas. I remember coming back from PA last year and feeling almost ripped off that I had to fly. We flew over DC and VA and the Midwest and I had not seen any of it. It seemed wrong to be that close but that far. But then spring came. Then I drove to CA and everything happened. And then I saw that road trips are a lot of fun, but when you want to be somewhere where the destination is more important than the drive, nothing tops a plane. I am a sold out frequent flyer now. But I haven’t given up road trips. Notice how I am getting to Vermont—flying into Boston, three hours way and renting a car, then spending my off times driving through New England—putting wear and tear in someone ELSE’S car (-:

So I am going back to Darrell and Terry’s. This will be my last visit there and that is going to be an adjustment too. Next time I will just be living there. I still can hardly believe all this has happened.

I just wrote in my journal—a habit during take off, and sometimes landing, because there is little you are allowed to do and I still hate taking off. Anyway, I have been keeping the same type of journal (3 subject, wire bound, small Mead notebooks) since all my spiritual stuff started in late 1997. I know it was no coincidence that I started a journal about a week before my life started changing—and I have kept them since. Every journal has a natural title. I mean, it just comes,. Sometimes if it doesn’t I just leave it blank until it does. And today it came even though I am not done.

THE CALL.

Really that is what this whole journal has chronicled. I started it soon after my aunt died and all that has happened has been incredible. The Call. I said in one blog how everything feels different when you know you are called. It is true. I will be walking around the apartment packing or something and it hits me again. I wonder what this is all going to bring. Is it like when you anticipate turning thirteen and being a teenager? The day comes and you wake up waiting to “feel” thirteen, but of course you don’t feel any different than yesterday. Will I be doing something in CA and suddenly know, THIS is why I came here, this is part of the call?

The healthy tobacco chewer next to me is Dallas PD. I saw his ID card when he opened his wallet to is the $3.99 per minute cell phone on the plane. I need to go to the bathroom soon, if the officer will excuse me. I am not really focused on writing in here or my journal so will pick this back up later too, but it is always nice to have it started!

I have about drained my battery playing solitaire. Mindless but a great time passer and more colorful than my Palm Pilot. We are about 1hour and 15 minutes from Santa Ana. Officer Gross is still chewing and had a Miller Light to go with it. Major grossiosity.

June 19—I am in Terry’s living room realizing I am behind on my blogs. I have been so BUSY since I arrived. The latest news is an issue with housing. I pretty much need to find a place NOW and have it HELD until I get here—which is not very likely. Darrell and Terry just left, and Darrell was teasing me, like pretending God was going to give me a perfect apt. if he laid hands on me. He left. Then he came back in the door and looked at me, “Seriously,” he said. “God does have the perfect apartment for you. You don’t need to stress and worry because he has it reserved for you.” I needed to hear that.

I am still feeling insecure. I hate that I am, but I am. Last night was my first Wednesday night at church there. They even have tambourines and dance on Wednesdays—wow! But it seemed almost ordinary until the testimony time. I am telling I can begin to see Terry’s immense heart for this place and these people. It is so AMAZING. I can’t explain it all in here, but my heart was moved in a way it rarely is just by listening. Then we all had to go to “Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles” in Hollywood. The name should say it all. D and T’s son DJ wanted his grandma to experience it. The same chicken that is Roscoe’s logo is the one on Jr. Food Mart’s all across the south. Truly creepy. It was a dive about which a major Hollywood movie is now being made. I really don’t like Hollywood. As I drove through Burbank yesterday (where all the studios are—few are left in Hollywood) I thought, you know God, you are bringing me to the pace where the very thing I HATE is produced. It produces many things that have degraded common decency and morality and made them trivial and reduced it all to nothing. I hate it. I really do. I hate movies and most modern forms of entertainment because I see the manipulation of people’s minds behind much of them. And now I have to drive by movie studios and Mercedes going in them to eat lunch. That is not to say it is all bad. There are companies that still produce good entertainment—family things and stuff. But mostly the big picture is a bit much for my mind. Anyway, that is an aside, but there we were eating, and there are three guys with us in there early 20s. They are core people in the church, and I a listening to them talk. I was amazed. They talked about God and preaching and worship and important stuff like that. Everything came back to God in the most natural way. So last night I think I got a glimpse into Terry’s love for the church. I saw it better.

The weather is gloomy today. Terry says I brought it along (-: ARGH! I WANT SUN! Well, I am off to Glendale to do paperwork and then to see Hasmik. And I hope to find that perfect place God has for me.