Always Take the Cookies

I’ve had the privilege of spending a good bit of time in the Middle East.

I’ve learned a lot about the people and the culture and, let me tell you, there is no hospitality like Middle Eastern hospitality (and I’ve lived in the South).

I was in Jordan a handful of years ago under the leadership of an incredible guide named Muhanned (yes, I spelled that correctly). We stopped about midway through a long drive from the southern to the northern part of the country.

Muhanned graciously bought our entire group (about sixty people) barazek – Jordanian cookies made primarily of honey and sesame seeds.

I was a couple rows back on the bus. As Muhanned handed out the cookies, the girl in front of me, quite loudly, refused to take one. “Oh gross!” she said. “Are those sesame seeds on cookies? Ummm… no. Pass.”

I saw Muhanned deflate a little. He wanted to serve us. He wanted to give us – literally – a taste of his country.

I’ll be honest. I don’t really love barazek. I’m not a huge fan of honey or sesame seeds.

But I always take the cookies. I always accept the hospitality.

Now, before you think I’m simply being polite in conforming to the cultural norms, that’s not exactly it.

It’s that I don’t really love barazek – and I also don’t really love being served.

I’ve been independent for a long time. I’ve gotten used to doing just about everything for myself. I am terrible at letting people serve me because it challenges my prideful notion that I can do it all on my own.

Taking the cookies reminds me – in a small way – to embrace the love and service of others. It reminds me that there are people that want to serve and care for me. I don’t have to do it all. I’m not supposed to do it all.

I’m called to be hospitable. I’m also called to accept hospitality.

We, as Christians, talk a lot about the humility of serving others – as we should. Jesus came to serve – not to be served.

But we rarely talk about the humility of being served.

Being served takes humility. It means admitting that our time, our resources, our capacity is limited. It means acknowledging that we need one another.

If we can’t accept our need for others, how on earth will we ever accept our need for Jesus?

Serve.

But learn to be served.

Always take the cookies.

Storms

If you haven't noticed, God teaches me a lot through airplanes, which is an interesting testament to His creativity.

Some time ago, I flew from Charlotte to St. Louis to visit my family for the weekend. As is my custom, I enjoyed three gate changes, a maintenance delay and a setback due to thunderstorms. But I'm not bitter.

Usually, when weather infringes upon my travel plans, I simply end up sitting in an airport terminal, waiting for things to clear up. This time, though, we were already approaching the St. Louis airport when the storms moved in.

As we took yet another lap in our holding pattern, I glanced out my window and thought about how calm it was above the clouds. The setting sun cast a stunning glow on the soft white against the backdrop of a blue sky. It was actually quite beautiful.

Yet just below the surface, hidden from our vantage point, thunder and lightning rumbled amidst a downpour.

I thought about the people I've met and the stories I've heard. I thought about how often there are hurricanes raging in the lives around me that the beauty above the surface would never betray.

I thought about the One who bring calm to the storm. I thought about how with every interaction, with every conversation, with every word, He has commissioned me to be a conduit of His peace and His presence.

May those of us that have experienced the peace of God in the middle of our storms take to the world that same peace as we join others in their storms- even the storms that fury under the cover of a seemingly calm life.

If These Walls Could Talk

You’ve heard that phrase before, right?

It’s usually uttered at an old or historic building.

“If these walls could talk, imagine the stories they would tell.”

Well, in Egypt, the walls really do talk.

No, not out loud, of course.

But if you visit any of the temple ruins – which are absolutely colossal – you’ll noticed that just about every inch of every walls bears ornate carvings and intricate designs.

These carvings, though, are not merely aesthetic.

They are intended to tell the story of the Pharaoh’s victories. They declare his power. They sing his praises and proclaim his glory.

As I stood at one such temple – Medinet Habu, built by and dedicated to Ramesses III – I thought about the “walls,” if you will, of my life.

I thought about what stories I’m telling.

Am I telling the story of my victories – of God’s?

Am I declaring my power – or God’s?

Am I hoping that people will sing my praises and proclaim my glory – or God’s?

The Bible says that we are stones in the temple of the Holy Spirit.

I want every inch of my stone to be carved with the story of who He is and what He has done.

Blessed are the Flexible

I’ve spent a good bit of time in the Middle East – traveling around Egypt, Jordan, Israel, and Turkey.

I’ve traveled with, in my humble opinion, many of the best teachers, best guides, and best drivers in the world.

They know what they’re doing. They have flights and hotels booked. They have sites scheduled out. They have a full itinerary planned.

But inevitably things go wrong.

Flash floods wash out a highway. A herd of sheep blocks the road and delays our departure or arrival. A site is closed when it was scheduled to be open.

You might think I’m joking, but I’m not. I’ve experienced every one of these scenarios and more.

As a Jordanian guide of mine once said, “If it doesn’t make sense, you’re in the Middle East.”

But the organization I’ve so often traveled with has a saying that puts it all in perspective.

“Blessed are the flexible, for they shall be bent but not broken.”

That’s more than a principle for travel.

That’s a principle for life.

Flash flood will wash out the highways. Herds of sheep will keep you from coming and going. Sites will be closed when you’re hoping to visit.

Metaphorically, of course.

(But also, literally if you plan to visit the Middle East.)

Here’s the point.

Blessed are the flexible, for they shall be bent but not broken.

What if we lived our lives with that perspective?

What if we resolved to be flexible – confident that we could be bent but, by the grace of God, not broken?

Scaling Up

The year after I graduated from college a friend and I took backpacked through Europe (yes, we were the stereotypical millennials in our early twenties).

We started in London, made our way down to Paris, enjoyed an extended stay in Switzerland where another friend was then living, and wrapped up in Rome. We packed in a lot of experiences, made a lot of memories, and learned a lot of lessons.

I particularly remember visiting the Louvre in Paris. We only had a couple days in the city and so couldn’t spend too much time meandering through the massive art museum.

We really only wanted to see one exhibit.

The Mona Lisa.

It took us thirty minutes or so to make our way from the front of the museum to the giant room dedicated to Da Vinci’s masterpiece. We stopped along the way to admire other paintings and sculptures, but the closer we got to the Mona Lisa, the more excited we got and the more quickly we moved through the other exhibits.

Then, there it was. The Mona Lisa.

We stood there in awe.

But then the awe wore off.

It was enclosed in a huge glass case with armed guards stationed on either side.

I was also struck by how small it was.

I mean, really small.

I don’t know the exact dimensions, but I’m pretty sure I have a coloring page from my niece larger than the Mona Lisa (and personally way more valuable).

Now, don’t get me wrong. The Mona Lisa is a masterpiece and now, looking back ten years later, I wish I’d enjoyed the moment a little more.

But here’s what I thought as we made our way back out to the Paris streets.

So often I think something is a lot bigger than it is. I think something is a lot harder than it is. I think something is more of a problem than it is. I scale it up in my mind.

But then I get up close and it turns out to be much smaller than I imagined.

All of the anticipation – all of the worry, all of the anxiety – was a waste.

I bet I’m not the only one. I bet you’ve experienced that before. I bet you’ve looked back on a situation and realized it wasn’t quite as big as you imagined it would be.

We all have faced and will face our share of truly big problems.

Let’s not scale up the small ones.

All In

Willie is a cab driver in Chicago. He’s in his mid-fifties now and has been transporting people all over the city for upwards of twenty years.

I met Willie when he drove me from downtown to the O’Hare International Airport.

We made small talk for a bit. He asked where I was from and what I was doing in Chicago. I asked how long he’d live in the city and how he liked it.

He told me that prior to becoming a cab driver he’d been a professional boxer.

He told me all about his training, his travels, and his career. He talked about the discipline required to stay in peak condition and the drive to be constantly learning and improving.

Then he said something that has stayed with me.

“Boxing takes total commitment. You can’t be lax. If you slack off in training, you’ll get knocked out in the ring. No man can live two lives. Either you’re in or you’re out.”

I’m not boxer, but I still think about that all the time.

I think about what it means to be all in.

I think about whether I’m trying to live two lives – trying to spread my attention and energy in too many directions, trying to do and be more than God has called me to do and be.

I can’t say I’m at risk of getting knocked out on a daily basis – the way Willie was during his boxing career.

But I am at risk of making less of a difference in the world. I am at risk of being less of the person God has created me to be. I am at risk of doing less for the Kingdom of God than God intends.

I want to finish this life with cramping muscles and with lungs gasping for air because I ran so hard after what God called me to. 

I don’t want to live two lives.

I want to be all in.

Enjoy the Ride

We were all supposed to arrive in Nairobi on the same flight. But, we got separated in the Paris airport. I waited a couple of minutes, but as we were already in danger of missing our flight, I ran, Home Alone style, to the gate and trusted they’d meet me there.

I got to the gate just in time for the final boarding call. There was no sign of my companions. I boarded at the instance of the ticketing agent who warned me that the doors were about to close.

Maybe they were already on the plane. Maybe they beat me there. Maybe a kind airport employee had picked them up on one of the little luggage carts and taken a shortcut to get them to the gate on time.

I searched the plane. They were nowhere to be found.

I heard the door slam and the flight attendants instruct all passengers to take their seats.

I was off to Kenya.

Alone.

When I arrived in Nairobi, I found out that none of my bags had been checked to my plane. I did manage to contact my companions, who had gotten on another flight scheduled to arrive the next morning. When everyone finally got in, only four of our twelve bags – most of which were filled with donations for the ministry we’re visiting – had made it. We still don’t have the other eight, nor are we entirely certain where they are.

It’s not an adventure if everything goes as planned.

I’ve had a lot of adventures.

Every adventure – every delayed flight, every lost bag, every obstacle – reminds me that I have far less control over my own life than I believe I do.

What I do have control over is how I respond to those obstacles.

I can complain about the unsympathetic ticketing agent that wouldn’t hold the plane, or I can thank God that we all made is safely to Nairobi.

I can grumble about the incompetent employees that lost our luggage, or I can thank God for providing just enough and recognize that I can get by on a lot less than I think I can.

I can let my frustration get the better of me, or I can enjoy the ride.

Every unpredictable minute of it.

Travel Tips

I’ve traveled quite a bit in my thirty years. I’ve learned a lot about how to travel along the way. So, as I set out on my next adventure, I thought I’d share with you a handful of tips for the next time you travel.

1.     Never leave without a book… or five.

I have the worst luck when it comes to traveling. I honestly don’t remember the last time I was on a flight that wasn’t delayed (which explains why my family won't fly with me). I’m also one of those people who likes to get to the airport at least two hours early, even though I have TSA Pre-Check and even though I know the flight is not going to leave on time. The upside to the countless hours I’ve spent sitting in airports is that I’ve read many more books than I would have otherwise. So, always have more books than you think you need. You never know when you’re going to end up waiting longer than you anticipated.

NOTE: If you ask my family, they will tell you that I like to arrive at the airport five hours early. Don’t believe them.

2.     Always bring an extra pair of underwear.

The bad luck I experience when traveling extends well beyond delayed flights. Once, when I was going to Ireland, I spilled an entire cup of Starbucks down the front of my shirt and pants just as I was settling in for the six-hour flight. I’m not easily embarrassed, so the coffee stains didn’t bother me in the least. But, sitting in coffee-soaked underwear? That’s not all that enjoyable. The moral of the story is always have an extra pair of underwear readily available in your carry-on. Or, just don’t spill your coffee.

3.     Be open to getting out of your comfort zone.

I tend to keep to myself when I travel. I am not that person who strikes up a conversation with the stranger trapped in the seat next to me. I’m more of the put-on-my-headphones-pull-out-my-book-and-avoid-eye-contact type. But, I’m also the person that always ends up next to the strike-up-a-conversation type. I used to try to send subtle signals that I didn’t want to talk. As it turns out, the type of person that likes to talk to strangers on airplanes is also the type of person that can’t read social cues. So, I gave up. Do you know what I found? People are fascinating, and God works in mysterious ways. Since I began engaging in conversation with the folks that wanted to talk, I’ve only sat next to a Christian once. He has opened up countless opportunities for spiritual conversation – and opportunities for me to share my faith. I would have missed out of them all if I hadn’t been willing to get out of my comfort zone. Talking to strangers on airplanes may not be out of your comfort zone, but what is? What might God want to do in you and through you, if only you’d step out? You might learn something. You might encourage someone. You might even make a friend.

4.     Be exceedingly kind to the ticketing agents.

Ticketing agents deal with cranky travelers all the time. Don’t be one of them. Also, they could “accidentally” send your bags to the wrong city.

NOTE: I have had my bags sent to the wrong city, but I don’t believe it was because I was rude to the ticketing agent. I have, though, witnessed travelers berating men and women just trying to do their job and I would be tempted to send their luggage to Bangkok. if I were them. I wouldn’t do it, of course. But, I would be tempted.

NOTE: This recommendation applies to TSA agents, flight attendants, fellow passengers (especially those traveling with small children), and the rest of humanity.

5.     Write down your stories.

I’ve never been good at keeping a journal. I always make it about four entries before I give up for six months, at which point I decide to, once again, dedicate myself to journaling and, obviously, have to buy a brand-new journal. I have dozens of journals that completely blanks, save for the first three pages. A friend of mine, though, encouraged me to start writing down stories during my travels. Admittedly, I’ve only recently taken up this practice, but I plan to continue. Reflecting at the end of each day – even for just a couple of minutes – has allowed me to capture experiences and conversations I would have otherwise forgotten. It has also helped me think about and articulate what I learned. I don’t want to squander the unique learning opportunities that travel affords. Writing it down helps me make the most of the experience and provides the added benefit of being able to revisit those lessons later.

NOTE: As you jot down your stories, think about how you could tell them succinctly. People will ask about your trip, but most will lose interest if you start to ramble (a special thanks to those friends that indulge my rambling). So, decide on the couple of stories or lessons you want to share and think about how you would tell them in less than five minutes.

NOTE: If you can’t fathom telling only a couple of stories, I would highly recommend starting a blog, so you can share to your hearts content.

Well, that’s all folks. I’m off to Nairobi. I hope these tips prove useful, in your travels and in your day-to-day.

Here’s to the next adventure – mine, and yours.

Choosing Joy

I met Margie on a flight from Charlotte to St. Louis. She and Jackie, her best friend of sixty years, were on their way back from visiting Margie’s daughter.

I took the aisle seat and prepared to avoid two hours of small talk by pulling out my headphones. Margie said, “Now, are you going to cause any trouble on this flight? Because this row only has enough room for one trouble-maker and I’ve already got that role covered.”

“No,” I said. “The flight attendant asked me sit here, so I could keep you in line.”

I put my headphones away.

We talked for the rest of the flight.

She told me she wanted to get a BB gun she could scare off the squirrels that congregated outside her apartment window, but Jackie wouldn’t let her. “It’s just not safe, Marge,” Jackie piped in. “You’re a terrible shot and you’re liable to hit someone.”

Marge rolled her eyes and looked to me for support. I gladly complied. “You should definitely get a BB gun, Marge. Jackie, mind your own business.”

Margie told me about the time she and Ruthie mooned Jackie and Frannie when they were out golfing. Jackie, without looking up from her book, said, “Seventy-nine is too old to be mooning people, Marge. Nobody wants to see your wrinkly behind.”

Margie leaned over and told me not to listen to Jackie. “She reads those dirty romance novels. You can’t trust her.” This time, Jackie looked up. “I’m reading John Grisham! Marge, don’t tell people I’m reading dirty books!”

I laughed at the banter between these old friends. Jackie went back to her book and Marge and I went back to talking.

Marge hasn’t had an easy life. When her first husband lost his battle to cancer, she took a job in the hotel management industry that kept her on the road and away from home most of the time. She remarried in her mid-fifties and enjoyed two decades with her second husband before he lost his battle to Parkinson’s. Margie is eighty-seven now. She moved into assisted living a couple months ago. Her health is declining and the pain in her left hip has stripped her of the independence she loved.

But, she has no complaints and no regrets.

I asked her how she had cultivated such a joyful spirit despite all the heartache she had experienced.

“God has been so good to me,” she said. “Even in the darkest times, He gave me reason to be grateful. You can’t choose what God will ask you walk through, but you can choose how you walk through it. Oh, there's been heartache, to be sure. I've cried a lot of tears and I still deeply miss the people I've lost. It's just that I decided a long time ago I didn’t want to waste a single minute of my time dwelling on what might or should have been. Cranky old people start out as cranky young people. Don’t be a cranky young person, Casey.”

I won’t be.

Thank you Margie. I’m glad I took my headphones off.

Die Walking

One of the most fascinating books I’ve ever read is "The Lost City of Z," by David Grann. It tells of British explorer Percy Fawcett’s epic search in the early 1900s for the legendary city of Z, supposedly buried deep in the Amazon.

On one particularly treacherous venture into the jungle, Fawcett's exploration party ran out of food and, after days of trekking on empty stomachs, soon grew weak with hunger. More susceptible than ever to disease and infection, many developed severe fevers. Any hope of getting out alive, much less finding Z, began to deteriorate.

One of the men, unable to take another step under the weight of sickness and exhaustion, collapsed against a tree and begged Fawcett to leave him to die.

"No," said Fawcett. "If we die, we'll die walking."

If we die, we'll die walking.

Most of us will never explore the Amazon (though if you happen to be planning a trip, please take me with you). We probably won't ever face starvation or risk contracting malaria. The obstacles we face will be of a different sort.

But make no mistake. We will face obstacles.

We will face cancer and heart attacks and dementia.

We will experience layoffs and financial strains.

We will lose people we love.

When my earthly life expires and I stand before my God, I want to be able to say that I gave it everything I had. I trusted Him through the trials. I stayed faithful in the challenges. I didn't collapse in the difficulties.

I want to die walking.

How about you?