Ignite.

An excerpt from my journal, August 8:

God just keeps me laughing today. Maybe it’s His clever way of easing the ache that seems to be quickly seeping deeper and deeper into my heart and thoughts. If I pause, even for a brief moment, the faces I’ve just left replay in my mind and the pain of walking away resonate like a relentless fist squeezing my heart too tightly. So, I am thankful today for things to laugh about. The little things that have preoccupied my mind while traveling.

One of those laughable moments happened just before I left. Brandon, my boyfriend, and I were waiting in the check in line for American Airlines—both of us weary with the thought of having to say a final “goodbye” for sixth months. Right before we approached the counter, a starry-eyed, widely-grinning black woman wearing tight black jeans, a red scarf loosely tied around her neckline, and a tilted beret atop her head (the icing on the cake), marched with purpose directly to the counter. She had a checkered carpet bag in one hand and cradled her obviously prized guitar in the other. With utter confidence she nearly shouted at the airline assistant, “headed to St. Louis!” Nothing was stopping her. Brandon and I couldn’t stop laughing. She was movie-worthy. Her flare let off a look reminiscent of Maria in The Sound of Music crossed with a San Franciscan beat poet. She was full of vigor and hopeful for stardom—clearly just waiting for her big break.

A half-an-hour later, the time came for me to cross through security—the last chance to say goodbye to my family and Brandon. I walked through the security line and watched each of them fade into little dots, their hands waving me off the entire way. I grabbed my sandals and carry-ons off the conveyor belt and sighed deeply. Just as my eyes began to well with tears, I saw her again. The star-to-be. She looked at me with bright eyes, “Wow! I just love your textiles!” she said, pointing to my scarf and skirt. “They are to die for!” She proceeded to tell me about her week at the Puget Sound Guitar Camp—the “single most inspirational week of her life.” Music was clearly her reason for living. “I scrubbed toilets the entire week for tuition,” she said. Scrubbing toilets with the glittering dream of producing beautiful songs—her passion was clear. “Bottom line…” she said to me as we parted, “we just gotta keep making our music, sister.” Maybe this movie-like character of a star hopeful was more than just a reason to keep me laughing. Maybe we had more in common than I’d imagined. Two travelers, full of hope, desiring inspiration, and ready to spread it wherever it is we end up—St. Louis or South India. As a musician, she plays, but it is the composer of the music who inspires the notes that flow sweetly from her guitar. I, too, work with a great composer. Without His inspiration, I wouldn’t be leaving. With it, my only response is to go. It’s in me—I gotta keep making my music.

Time elapsed, and soon I was suspended somewhere over Scandinavia in a Boeing 777, next to a kind old man from the Punjab province. He was wearing deep red, with a brown-colored turban and wrinkles like river deltas, traveling across his forehead and face. He was warm and welcoming, pelting me with questions about my life and story. His inquisitiveness was interrupted by a flight attendant on the overhead speaker with an announcement. “Please kindly close your windows in the main cabin. Soon we will be flying over Scandinavian polar ice caps and the reflection is very bright”. This surprised me a bit, especially because the sky was dim in color, lit only by orange hues of the setting sun. My mind was turning with curiosity, so every five minutes or so I pried the window screen open half-an-inch. Nothing. Nothing again. Then, suddenly I discovered exactly what the flight attendant meant. A fiery light resonated from the area outside the plane. The brightness stretched and surrounded, creating an effulgent glow. It was beautifully striking and just as the flight attendant described it: bright. The light was penetrating and completely natural. There was nothing artificial about it. Even though the sky colors were quickly dipping into darkness, the reflective polar ice had no choice but to respond to the last hints of light and create an overwhelming glow. Creation naturally responding to its Creator.

Just like a musician responding to the notes of a beautiful composer, the ice responded to the light with an resonant radiance. I thought again of the apparent significance. Though I am entirely unsure of the stories that will be produced or the specific outcome that will result from my trip to India, I choose to go. I am responding to what I believe God called me to do. When a God that has so much overwhelming love for us asks something of us, the response is natural. Obedience results. We become an inspired musician or illuminated ice reflecting the mastermind of the creator, the composer, the director of our call. We begin to love because He first loved us, share because we have been so touched by what He has shared with us, give because He gave us the ultimate gift—His life. Suddenly, it’s natural. Something is ignited from within and ready to reflect its source.

“His word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed I cannot.” –Jeremiah 20:8-9