ponder anew.

I graduated well over a month ago. That is still hard to believe. Maybe not hard to believe. Maybe just funny or strange or uncomfortable. Maybe a little bit of all of those. About a month ago my mom, my brother, my godmother and I boarded a plane to Florence. Graduation trip. I am fortunate. I am spoiled. I have so much. All of these things I know. And yet, it is good to remind myself. I have so, so much. I am a poor, unemployed college graduate, and yet I have so, so much. Sometimes I act like I don't.

Europe. Our first stop was Florence where I loved walking through the street markets. Where I loved drinking Chianti and eating pasta. Where I attempted to speak Italian and wait until 9 PM to eat dinner. Where I climbed the 400 something stairs to the top of the Duomo and where I bought my very first piece of leather clothing. We ate well in Italy, enjoying every last bite of every last meal. We made our way to the coast and spent a day wandering between the five villages of Cinque Terre. Beauty was everywhere we looked. Unavoidable, unadulterated beauty. In the architecture, in the museums, in the people, in the art being created and displayed all around us.

Next, we found our way back to the airport and headed off to France. We spent three days in Paris walking from monument to monument, navigating the metro, climbing the Notre Dame, eating crepes, and taking in the grandness of such a brilliant city. I expected to love Paris, and I did love it. But more than anything Paris made me feel my smallness. A deep feeling of my tininess compared to the world around me, compared to the vast wealth and history of this place, compared to the God that I serve. Europe was lovely. Europe pointed me to infinity, to eternity and to the small part that my finite little body can and does play in all of that. Paris put me in my place and Paris taught me the thrills of being so small. I get to enjoy the bigness. I get to take in the wonder all around me. And I don't have to have all the answers, because I am small and there's just no way that I could know it all. Paris taught me to rest in wonder; there is peace there.

Barcelona was last on the schedule. It was a little more challenging to get there than we anticipated. We checked out of our hotel in Paris and took a taxi with all of our 10000000 bags to the airport. We checked our 100000000 bags. We were informed that the flight was an hour delayed. No one told us why. We didn't think much of it. No big deal. We made our way to the terminal and Walker and I set up camp at a little restaurant near our gate. We met an older couple that was also traveling to Barcelona. We talked to them for hours as our flight continued to be pushed back more and more.

Luckily our new friends spoke Spanish and French. Otherwise, we may never have gotten the news that our flight was cancelled. Something about lightening hitting the control tower. Or a workers strike. We're still not really sure. Our entire flight congregated around the information desk pleading for a way to our destination. We all just wanted to get to Barcelona.

Initially, we were told that buses would come and take us to a nearby airport where we would be able to catch a later flight to Spain. We walked with our new, Canadian friends to baggage claim where we retrieved our 100000000 bags and then headed to the designated bus pick-up spot.

And we waited. Along with everyone else on our flight, we waited for the buses to come. We waited for almost two and a half hours before we learned from our trilingual friends that there was in fact no other flight. Our airline had not gotten permission from the other airport to use their facility. We were still flightless.

Everyone around us was growing hungry and tired. By this point all of the shops and restaurants in the airport had closed. There was one small, red vending machine that got some good cash-flow that night.

At one point there was a woman from our flight that got pushed over by an airline worker as she attempted to take a picture of the crowd of people unhappily waiting for our buses to arrive. The police were called in more than one time as little fights (verbal and physical) broke out every so often.

We were eventually ushered back inside where we were promised refunds for our flight that never happened. We stood there waiting as more hours ticked by and no one came to help us. People had started passing around petitions and yelling chants, most of which were in Spanish, but I can assure you that they were not happy chants.

We debated finding a train to Spain. Families with small children began setting up camp in little territories around the airport. Small, makeshift homes for their babies to find some rest.

My family and I were growing anxious and unsure of where we were going to sleep and how we were going to get to our next destination. At 2:30 AM we finally managed to negotiate our way on to the 9:15 AM flight to Barcelona. We said our goodbyes to our new friends and went in search of a place to find some rest.

Our airline had showed us very little compassion throughout the whole process so when we stumbled upon some kind airport workers putting together cots for us to sleep on we fell into their arms without any hesitation. We were tired and thirsty and we hadn't eaten since noon. They gave us blankets and bottled water and pretzels and I am not sure that I have every been so thankful for the kindness of a stranger. They made me feel like I was human again.

At one point earlier in the night my little brother looked over at me and in his ever surprising wisdom he said, "Well, at least this can't last forever."

We half-slept, half-worried about our 10000000 bags of luggage being taken in a room with 50 other strangers.

I was dirty and tired and dehydrated. My clothes smelled like smoke and my eyes felt like they had dirt in them. The blanket that I had been given was not quite long enough to cover my body, but I laid there on my cot after using my 15 free minutes of airport wifi, and I thought about what Walker had said:

"At least this can't last forever."

This is but one night. I told myself, "you are tired and cranky and hungry, but this will be over so soon."

I thought about the people in my life dealing with things that do not have an end in sight. Disease and pain and death and mourning. I thought to myself that I would rather do this for 100 nights than go through the hard things that they and many like them are facing. I would rather do this for 100 nights than watch these people that I love walk through such darkness.

Laying there in that room with so many people around me, again I remembered my smallness. I was reminded of my lack of power. My finiteness. I have nothing to give. I cannot change these things. They are so big and I am so small. I didn't have the power to end the workers strike or to stop the storm and I don't have the power to heal sick bodies or to take away deep, soul pain. I can't do any of those things. I just can't.

I am but one little person. I am but myself and that is as it ought to be. No more can I remember how small I am before I am reminded of how big my father is. He was there that night in the airport and he is there with the people that I love in the darkness, in the pain and in the fear. He is there in the hospitals and in the homes. He is there. And he is not small.

I couldn't help but think of all of the things we had visited in Italy and France. Human beings spent so much time and energy and money building these magnificent churches and sanctuaries. My family and I visited them in every city we went to. They are all huge and they are all beautiful. They are without a doubt filled with true grandeur. They are wonderful.

I was reminded, laying on my cot in the airport hall that He is so much bigger, so much more beautiful than the tallest tower or the most intricate painting.

And then I fell asleep, uncomfortable as I had been in a very long time, full of questions that I still do not have the answers to, but brimming with peace knowing that I lay in my Father's great big arms.

Lord, help my unbelief.