On a jet plane

“When that April with her sweet breath
The desiccating winds of March
Has pierced to the root,
Then go the Faithful on pilgrimages.”

Apologies to Geoffrey Chaucer

Descendants of the Mayflower Pilgrims by birth or by creed, five of us faithful trust our bags and our lives to the coach drivers of the sky. And more especially to God, master of all in the air, on land, and sea.

We pledge our lives and sacred honor (having already exhausted our treasure) to represent God and country abroad. This is not easy.

I am reminded of an American missionary couple, on research leave in England, decided to dress in black and be sure to leave baseball cap and Patriots paraphernalia in the closet as they went out to dine at a local pub in Leeds. In England to be known as an American is to invite unwanted political arguments about Bush and Iraq. And they just wanted a bit of peace away from the kids for few hours. Who comes in the door but a guy in shorts, baseball cap, and loud shirt. “I wonder where he’s from? Let’s just hope he doesn’t come in our direction!”

So we will behave ourselves as much five no-longer-young people can—with one who really never got much beyond the teens, saying, “growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional!”

Friends have offered their o-so-helpful tips. How to say “hello” and “how are you” in Greek. And how to reply: “Kala!” That’s the only one my brain brings to my screen a day later. (Pathetic!) And that one is the same as for Ancient Greek I learned in college and seminary, meaning, “Good!” (Or “Well!” if you are a stickler for grammar which most people ain’t these days.)

“Try Greek yogurt – it’s so much better than ours.” “Don’t forget the olives, either.” “ Feta cheese”—the list goes on. Hey—I just eat food, I don’t think about it too much. If it tastes good, that’s all I need. Plus volume, of course. Hey—I’m a guy. What can I say?

I think I’ll like rooming with Dale, cuz he eats like a bird so I’ll likely get some extras here and there. But I/m even cheaper than I am voracious. I plan to gorge morning and night and skip lunch. Sound like a plan?

So my bags are packed, I’m ready to go—on a jet plane. It was my kids' era, but there might have been a song along those lines-during the hippie days, was it?

Thanks for all the good wishes and promised prayers.

Catch ya’ later!