Below is the story of my journey home for the holidays last year. This was written last January, but has been resonating strongly in my heart. Its good to be home.
With a flash, Christmas had arrived, and it was time for me to make my first journey back home to Texas to spend some time with Family and Friends for the holidays. The trip would be short, as over the prior summer I had seen fit to book a trip with a group of long time friends to head to Africa for two weeks to Summit Mt. Killimanjaro, and then to move on to Zanzibar for a nice beach holiday to find rest and respite from the winter’s cold which was now in full swing in the UK.
As the days to my return home neared it seemed that the journey would not be without complication, as an early winter snow storm had taken grip of London and had proven sufficient to cripple transport around town. More importantly Heathrow Airport was found entirely unprepared for such weather and was suffering days of back to back closures, stranding thousands of travelers in the airport’s sterile corridors hoping and waiting to make their journey home. Headlines were dominated by images of thousands of people stranded, sleeping on floors and in hallways, trying to find their way to the ones they love.
Despite the troubles the snow had caused for so many, London was beautiful for those days leading up to my departure, Hyde Park was covered in a blanket of white and its ponds were frozen through and through, making the normally lush green space a crisp and wintery playground. I left one morning to go for a winter’s run, and found the park in a quiet hum of activity as many had seen fit to take advantage of the beauty and wonder of pre-Christmas snow around London’s more typically wet and dreary streets.
As I trotted along my typical trails, I realized that the manicured pathways were irrelevant that day as the park had been converted to a single white blanket of snow dabbled with snowmen and families strolling in wonder. I cut through the sparse trees and towards round pond, and then slowly made my way towards the Serpentine and then back past the Peter Pan Statue through Kensington Gardens. My mind wandered different directions with thoughts of the months before as my feet carefully trodden the hard frozen ground. As I made my way, I hoped the beauty at my feet wouldn’t serve to add my name to the list of those stranded in London over the holidays without the comfort of family or long time friends to warm the cold holiday nights.
A friend of mine was scheduled to fly out that Sunday, his flights were cancelled and had been rescheduled to head to California on Christmas Eve. I knew that if I didn’t make it out on the following Tuesday, when I was scheduled to fly, that I was stuck. I kept hopeful knowing that no volume of my thoughts or concerns could change the weather, so I resigned to enjoy those last few days and readied myself for both my trip home.
So in those final nights, the roar of my Christmas social schedule had been dulled to a whimper and I had a few quiet moments to gather my thoughts and things. My first two months had been amazing, and far exceeded anything that I could have hoped, yet I was ready for a trip home to get reacquainted with the life and lives I had left behind. While I was content where I was and with the progress I had made, knowing that so many dear friends were within reach only served to fuel my excitement of the trip home. On the cold morning of December 21st, I woke up early to endeavor to get home.
My casual work schedule hadn’t served me well that day, as my urgency to get out the door wasn’t appropriate for what little time I had to actually get to the airport. But with what felt like ample time to spare I made my way to the my Underground stop, to get to Paddington and then onward to catch a train to Heathrow. In typical fashion, seconds of delays can translate into minutes, and in some case hours of disruption in London. I arrived at my stop just in time to wait, and wait, I began to get impatient as the typically slow moving train was most surely delayed by some strange circumstance, I chalked it up to the weather and waited alone on the empty platform.
Before long I could hear the train rumbling down the tracks, and attempted to make the quick transfer at Paddington station. I arrived in perfect time to see the train to the airport pull away without me, just a few seconds earlier and this wouldn’t have been my fate. I had been preparing myself for the heartbreak of having my flights cancelled so my expectations were well tempered, but now the idea of heartbreak had been replaced by a thing much more like reality. My resignation to chaos needed fine tuning, this was nothing I could control, and so I deepened my resolve and carried on. It would be twenty minutes before the next train departed, so there was nothing I could do now, but wait.
The night prior I had watched an old Christmas film that was blessed by the Beatles tune, “All You Need Is Love”, the simple chorus became my mantra that morning, and so I hummed in repetition and in some cases quietly sang to myself “All you need is Love…”. I assumed I couldn’t be heard, but either way I wasn’t self conscious in the slightest, as the simple tune seemed to quiet my hearts concerns in steady time. Ironically the Film, Love Actually, which was okay, not by any means the best I had seen, both opened and concluded at Heathrow’s arrival gates. While the film in total had no major resonation with me, it did contain images of people reuniting, sharing deep forgotten embrace, showered in love, they had arrived home. Now this, this thing, struck a chord in my heart. Thoughts of how richly blessed I was to be where I was, doing what I was doing, to be loved, to be known, to be wild…Life was amazing, and I was deep in its veins.
Twenty minutes passed at a snail’s pace, and while the humming was losing its effectiveness I assured myself that it would all sort out and it was beyond my influence in any case. I checked my watch. If things went smoothly from here in I’d be fine, but who knew what I’d find at the airport turned homeless shelter upon my arrival. Aboard the train the BBC broadcast news of terminal closures, of which mine was included. I had called the airline earlier that day and was told things were on schedule and my flight was one of a few planned departure, yet I didn’t know who to believe nor what was true. So I made my way to the check in line, and waded through a scene that was unlike any airport chaos I’d ever seen.
Lines of people streamed out the terminal doors, and inside, the chaos was consolidated but entirely uncontained. Queues of frustrated travelers snaked around the stanchions for what must have been miles. There weren’t many happy faces that day, and looks of caution seemed in fashion as everyone appeared to comprehend the delicate nature of the situation. I was lucky enough to have a relatively short line, and I had an hour and twenty five minutes before my flight departed. Above the check in sign a note read “Check-ins must be completed prior to 1 hour before departure’, I checked my watch again and cautiously counted the heads in front of me. I have a trained analytical mind, so doing math in moments like these seemed to provide the comfortable illusion of control. I hummed the chorus again, and hoped the pace would quicken..."all you need is love..."
I stood in line and watched the minutes tick away, I looked around as the expanse of humanity seemed to unravel before my eyes. First a young woman burst into tears and began sobbing, while I’m unsure of her plight I can only imagine this was the culmination of days of frustration and cancellations. I assumed she had just received the final and devastating news that she may never make it home. My heart broke a little for her and a then a little for myself, while my future was still unwritten, I could easily find myself in her shoes in a matter of minutes. Next, a young Asian man burst into hysterical crying, screaming loudly in agony as if his one true love, his only hope had just died in his arms. An airline employee, tried to help him find composure, but after long the poor girl realized that no amount of reassurance would suffice, and it would be best to let this unravel on its own. My heart slowly sunk within me, no longer concerned for myself, I felt a helpless sadness for these people, these strangers, whose circumstances were all too real to ignore.
I was pulled into a separate line, to help facilitate the check in rate, so I stood alone behind the red ribbon band that separated me from the next available attendant who was helping one last customer. I had five minutes until the hour deadline would arrive, surely I’d be fine. I kept humming and watched the clock steadily pass. I searched my mind for a scenario that would allow me to not be frustrated at the man in front of me who seemed to be taking an eternity, and while I drew blanks, I knew we were all subject to a different authority in the airport and perhaps it was best to not employ the sake of my imagination for any cause as it would only prove to lead my mind and heart to a reality that might not be my own. At two minutes past the hour I was finally called to learn my fate..."all you need is love..."
The attendant confirmed my deepest fears that the flight was now closed, but immediately assured she’d be able to get me on. I recounted the past hour, had I left my flat a bit earlier, maybe caught the first train, perhaps this would have felt like a smaller victory, but my heart was blessed and richly so to know I was going home. After checking my bag, I resumed my humming with new fervor and made my way through security and into the eerily vacant halls of Heathrow’s Terminal 3, I was going home..."all you need is love..."
The halls were mine to roam, and so the hum turned to a quiet singing as a sigh of contentment passed through my lungs. As I slowly walked down that empty walkway, thoughts of the prior night’s movie crept into my head, and then quickly faded into the darkness as the light of my recollections of the past few months, the richness of God’s blessing, and the anticipation for all the great things I’d imagine would come upon my return grew bright and rich in my mind’s eye. I was living a life that only weeks prior I had believed was only a dream, and it was real, and it was beyond what I could have imagined; it was amazing. I think I couldn’t have hoped for so much in the days prior to leaving Texas, and yet here I was, in a new world, a big world, which seemed so full of new possibilities for me. At the end of the hall I could see the departure lounge was starting to clear as I made my way ahead on the metal moving walkways. And then, one stark image served to pierce all the events and feelings of that morning in a way I would have never guessed. "all you need is love..."
Amidst my musical pacing down that long hallway, my eyes were suddenly fixed to a most familiar face whose eyes and outspread arms seemed to embrace my very soul on first sight. Two years prior, I had taken a trip with a friend to visit Rio De Janeiro for a brief November adventure. In our time there we had made two trips to visit the Cristo Redento Statue (translated, Christ the Redeemer), which stands watch over Rio’s tropical shores. Our first trip up the steep slopes was thwarted by dense clouds, so dense in fact that we weren’t able to see past the tall statues shins. And while Christ’s shins should prove sufficient, we wanted the full view, so on our last day, when weather seemed to have cleared for the first time in days, we made a second trip up, hoping that the dotted clouds might break free and let us share in Christ’s view over that marvelous city. We were the first to arrive at the monument’s gate, and boarded a van alone to head to the top, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. No sooner had we arrived, had the clouds broken free to reveal the massive statue’s prominence with arms spread wide exposing the nail pierced hand’s of Christ, my friend, my redeemer. Set on a back drop of perfect blue sky, that image was one I would cherish, and would hope to never forget, and yet, some two years later, I found this same Christ as he peered out of a picture frame that hung on the wall, with arms outstretched as if to invite me in for a personal embrace.
I have a friend who always told me that coincidence is God’s fingerprints on our lives, and in that moment I couldn’t have agreed more. Who knows how many years that picture had hung, or if had even been noticed by the millions who passed it each year? Perhaps it was a relic from long ago, or maybe it had just been hung. Perhaps it had been a proposed addition to the hall that was subject to some budgetary debate or conflict to save money by the airports administrators. In any case, some interior decorator had managed to get it hung, and to hang it there where I would find it, and it was so perfectly what I needed in that moment.
I felt like somehow that picture was a clear message, a Holiday card from Christ himself, on his birthday to me. Here is what I imagined it would read:
“Chris,
Merry Christmas! I love finding you here and surprising you in this way, I know by your calendar I’m early as December 25th is a few days away, but I think you’ll find that I’m right on time. I hope this holiday you know and understand that all you need is love, my love is all you need. I love you dearly, and I’m so glad you get to go home, and as you go, don’t forget that in my arms you’ll always find a home, forever. I am pleased to find you enjoying London, and I can’t wait to show you what’s next.
Merry Christmas,
JC”
I like to imagine that if Christ were here in person today, he’d send letters like that. At holidays, birthdays, big events and graduations, and sometimes at random occasions, just checking in, reaffirming his love, his dominion, and his well wishes for what is best in my heart and life. I need a personal Jesus, and I think that’s who Jesus is and was, the whole thing of faith, this world, and this life makes no sense to me without it. This is also part of the reason I send notes to people as frequently as is appropriate, for if Jesus doesn’t in fact have an email account, I might as well put mine to work on his behalf.
I stood for a moment and began to tear up with joy for all I’d been given, and for the simple blessing of going home. I was pleased to have found Christ there, and to be finding him daily in London, it was a good change for me, and I was reaffirmed in my course, and the course his hand was taking in my life. I didn’t know what lie ahead but whatever it was I would be pleased to find it when it came, and when it came I'd be pleased to know that there's always a way home...no matter how wild our adventures may be.
"All you need is..."
CP
Written 2008 - Rio. - http://chrispanoff.blogspot.com/2008/11/to-see-or-not-to-see-clouded-vision.html
