Читать книгу I Love the Word Impossible - Ann Kiemel - Страница 8

it’s sunday night.

i flew in this afternoon, as i do most sundays, from speaking somewhere in the country. a garment bag over one arm and books under the other… and the feeling that at any moment something was going to drop or i would get tangled in my coat and sprawl.

i am always one of the first off the plane.

i walk very fast.

my car is usually parked in the airport garage

across from the terminal.

when i unlock the door to my little apartment,

there is no one to greet me…

no strong man to wrap me in his arms, to

laugh with me in love and belonging, shedding

my sophistication.

no one to hear whether i felt encouraged or

disappointed about people’s receptiveness to

me and my dreams.

no child to scoop up and squeeze and call

my own.

it’s amusing. a lot of people think my world is

glamorous. airplanes and hotels and faraway

cities.

there are many special things i love and cherish…

and there are long layovers in

enormous airports

and cold hotel rooms on winter nights

and crowds to stumble through,

down endlessly long corridors,

as i try to get to a gate to catch a plane,

dash and still miss it.

and people who scrutinize me with a frown when

i bound in the door of the auditorium,

and days when i am feeling so tired and so

unattractive

and i still have to smile and cover my

insecurities and weariness in front of several

hundred… instead of going home

and hiding.

it had been a successful convention, and i was

seated on a TWA jet in st. louis, returning home.

yummmmmmmm.

just as we started to pull away from the gate,

engines stopped, and a stewardess said,

“evacuate immediately. this is an emergency.

leave everything in your seats.”

and we did…

for five hours. we were kept in an area of the airport

while they thoroughly investigated a bomb

threat.

i felt drained and exhausted from a lot of speaking,

and devastated that i couldn’t be on my way home.

when we finally reboarded, i turned to the man

next to me.

“how are you feeling?”

“lousy… yep, really lousy.”

“me, too. you know, i could smack whoever

gave that bomb threat. sir, i’m a Christian.

Jesus is Lord of my life, but i’m not a ‘miss pollyanna’

in an experience like this. sir,

you know what i really love about Jesus?

i think He knows just how we feel.”

the man threw his head back and roared with

laughter.

“you’re the first Christian i ever met who

makes it sound real and exciting…”

another day i arrived in a sunny, warm southern

city to speak. i wondered, as i deboarded, who

would be there to meet me. usually, i never know

the people, and they identify me. that day, no one

did.

it was exactly thirty minutes before i was to be at a

certain hotel to address a banquet. the flight was

long, and i needed to change and freshen up. i

wandered around the terminal area awhile, hoping

someone would claim me. i saw an older couple

stare a lot in my direction. they seemed like

possible candidates… very conservative in their

appearance, and it was a church conference. they

walked back and forth as i leaned against a counter

finally, i had the air lines page,

“party meeting ann kiemel… please

come to united’s information desk…”

this couple did… only five feet away… just watching

me. i smiled shyly, hoping they would respond.

then i became paranoid.

“what is it they don’t like about me? my dress

is long. it has sleeves, the neckline is high, and i’m

not gaudied up in jewelry. i’ve got sandals on,

but…”

suddenly the man, with wrinkled frown, called out,

“do you know ann kiemel?”

i spilled into smiles… “it’s me! i’m ann.”

they didn’t smile. nor offer to carry my bag. they

walked ahead of me in silence, and led me to their

car parked at the far end of the airport. they

crawled in the front seat and closed their doors,

and i sheepishly got in back. nothing was said as we

drove to the hotel. the man again parked far from

the entrance, and neither helped me crawl out or

offered to carry my things. when we got inside,

they pressed the elevator button for the banquet

room, and i became frantic…

“sir, my room! i must change…”

he shrugged his shoulders, so i marched to the desk

and registered myself. and when i turned to go my

eyes caught the wife with another woman, shaking

her head in negative dismay.

when i got to my room, i fell across the bed

and sobbed.

“Jesus, i can’t go down there to that banquet.

they don’t like me. i won’t fit in. i’m going to

be rejected without even being heard. i’m so

scared…”

for a few minutes, i forgot time. i didn’t care. i

could only wail. then i pulled myself up, washed

my face, changed clothes and walked out with a

straight back, my head high, and my eyes very red.

someone there had faith enough to call me to do

this, and God would help me. i walked into the

large banquet room, and was instantly greeted by

warm, charming people with strong handshakes

and wide smiles. i couldn’t even find the couple

who picked me up…

until afterward.

after i had spoken, and God had powerfully

graced the evening, then they decided i was

“okay”… the little wife grabbed me and led

me through the crowd, telling everyone she

and her husband had brought me from the

airport. sighhhhhh.

i have flown next to someone who poured a whole

can of beer in her lap… another who had an awful

case of nausea which made me almost have one

too. people have whisked me into an enormous,

cold auditorium on a stormy night, and i was genuinely

at God’s mercy to bring some warmth and

beauty. in one city, it was over a hundred degrees

outside, 800 people were packed into a high school

auditorium where the air conditioning had failed

and babies screamed and 300 fans waved vigorously.

i wondered if i could possibly communicate

through all that… and i can testify that God has

been absolutely faithful. He’s come through every

time.

it makes me laugh now when i think of youth

camps and summer retreats where i’ve been

dropped off at the “workers’ cabin”… some

workers’ cabins have spiders on the walls and

musty smells, and i’m not a very good “rougher.”

the lovely part is that it takes only a few hours until

everyone belongs, and i feel so much a part, and

rather than the awful loneliness at first, i begin to

feel a kindred spirit, enriched and graced and

mellowed by the earthly goodness of others. and i

find myself going to sleep without being afraid of

bugs.

probably women with homes and husbands and

children forget those parts of traveling and being

“public”… and i forget that with husbands and

children come meals to prepare and laundry to do

and floors to keep scrubbed and noses wiped and

lunches to pack. i think we are both lucky. God has

a creative way of giving the romantic and awe-inspiring

and bright without ignoring the humdrum

and nitty-gritty and sobering.

one woman once wrote,

“no wonder you can speak with confidence and

grace. you have the whole world on your side. you

travel and eat out and meet people everywhere and

are young. i cannot be a happy Christian. i’ve been

married and divorced three times, had a nervous

breakdown, and am trapped at home.”

i responded by letter…

“your life sounds very difficult. i’m so sorry it’s

been so rough for you. behind my sunshine and

what you call ‘grace’ are some enormous disappointments

and shameful failures and lonely

agonies. i think no one escapes life without pain

and struggle. try and remember that it’s how we let

God help us respond that determines whether or

not we can live with hope. i believe in bright happy

tomorrows for you…”