I look at the world and notice it is turning

It's funny how no matter what happens to you or your community, the world keeps turning.

During the first weekend of May in 2010, the flood in Nashville occurred. I can remember tweeting about how I wanted to scream, "MY TOWN IS UNDER WATER," while the world was posting about nonsense. I can remember friends posting things on Facebook about trivial things after the earthquake in Haiti and the tsunami hit Japan.

I'm guilty of it myself. I worry more about whether or not Jersey Shore and Worst Cooks in America was set to record on my DVR than the issues that truly matter. I'm concerned with how clean my shoes are when I walk out the door instead of the millions of people in this country who have no shoes, no home, or both.

But there are moments in this world when we stop caring about those things that don't matter and truly focus on what does matter. Those times are special. Those are the times we should hold close, for they are what we're made of.

A few days ago, a friend of my youth group, Sophie, had a massive stroke and was hospitalized. Sophie is only 19. I've met her a few times at various youth events and at her schools musicals that both her and many of my youth performed in. She has a voice that gives you chills. I'll never forget her as Belle in the production of Beauty & the Beast from two or three years ago.

I didn't hear first hand about Sophie's stroke, but I began to notice my current and former youth posting things on Facebook about her. I began to snoop around a little to see if I could find out what was going on and through her Facebook page and my youth's pages, I was quickly caught up on the situation.

In this time of trial for their friend, my youth have shown what they are made of. Countless posts letting Sophie know she's loved; pictures and videos and quotes from books and song lyrics and memories posted to show her how much they care. She won't see all of this love until she wakes, but God knows she can feel it.

My youth make me overwhelmingly proud when they act like teenagers, but when they act like children of God, they humble me. They make me want to be better: better as as youth advisor, better as a friend, better as a man.

If you pray, I'd ask you to pray for Sophie and her family. I'd ask you to pray for my youth and all of Sophie's friends as they deal with her situation scattered across the country at various colleges. And if you don't pray, good thoughts will mean just as much.

"And the world turned and the world turned and the world turned..."

My Perfect Sunday.

This past Sunday, I saw the face of God a thousand times.

I saw it when Emily, a senior in my youth group, let down her guard for two minutes and was able to put her appreciation for the church she was raised in into words.

I saw it in Isaac, an intelligent and clever junior, as he took charge of preparing and serving the Lord's Supper for his congregation, making sure that everything was as it was supposed to be.

I saw the face of God in Merritt, a senior who can't wait to go to college and realize her potential, as she conquered her stage fright and spoke the most wonderful sermon from her heart.

I saw it in Lyndon, a seventh grader with the energy of a seventh grader, who spilled water from the baptismal fount with such abundance that her gasp was followed quickly by laughter. And shortly after the laughter came prayer, just as God would have wanted.

I watched Henry, a senior with wisdom beyond his years, speak from his heart. With nothing more than an outline set before him on the pulpit, he spoke the words that preachers want to preach, professing his faith and admitting his questions and doubts.

I saw John Franklin and Max and Catherine and Avery and Jesse and Mattie and Web and Lucy and India and Ben and Emery and Margaret and Anwen and Canon and Rebecca and Rachel and David and Caroline and John laugh and pray and laugh some more. These are the faces of God.

And I saw Nate.

Nate is a seventh grader with autism. He loves iPhones, movies, television, and doodling. He wears sweatpants and red Keds. When he laughs, he laughs; his head falls back and his mouth is wide open. Nate is shy in new situations and around new people. He calls me Mr. Brian and makes me laugh.

On most Sunday mornings, Nate attends church with his parents. They sit in the balcony of the sanctuary and Nate draws pictures and listens to the children's moment. Usually about two-thirds of the way through the service, Nate grows tired and restless and the family has to leave.

This past Sunday, this most perfect Youth Sunday at Second Presbyterian in Nashville, Nate sat in the front row of the church between two of his fellow youth group members. His parents were nervous, I was nervous, but the youth never worried. To them, Nate is Nate; he comes and goes once in awhile, but they're never nervous around him. He sat so quietly through the service that I forgot to keep my eye on him from my chair next to the door of the sanctuary. And then came time for the offering.

One of the youth sitting next to Nate, Web, was supposed to help carry the communion elements from the back of the sanctuary to the communion table during the doxology after the offering had been collected. Nate often follows Web since they've grown up going to Sunday School together, so naturally, when Web got up to help with communion, Nate was right by his side.

As I was sorting out who would take what chalice and which plate of bread to the front of the church, I suddenly had Nate asking to hold a chalice. Not knowing how this situation might play out, I handed him the one empty chalice in hopes that this would reduce the risk for a grape juice catastrophe. He held it for a few seconds and then changed his mind, he wanted to carry a plate of bread. I exchanged anxious glances with a few of my youth and we all quickly and silently agreed to allow Nate to carry a plate with a large loaf of bread, cut into two halves, to the front of the church.

The offertory was nearing a close and I was trying to sort out 11 youth who between them held two large pots of non-perishable food we had collected, an offering plate, a pitcher of grape juice, one empty chalice, three chalices full of juice, two loaves of bread on plates, a plate of gluten-free communion bread, and an in-home communion set.

And I was trying to make sure Nate was okay. After I quietly told him that he was going to take the bread, walk down the aisle next to Isaac, and put it on the communion table, he started to panic slightly. Knowing this was natural for Nate and having worked with him for seven months now, I knew to ask him if he was okay. He said he was, calmed himself down, and told me he had a sniffly nose.

The images going through my mind at that moment were hilarious. I had gone from worrying about the possibility of a spilled cup of grape juice to a loaf of communion bread covered by the sneeze of one of my seventh graders. Thankfully, Nate's father, Mike, had come to save the day. He blew his sons nose and double-checked with me to make sure I was okay with the situation and returned to his pew.

Literally seconds after Nate had blown his nose, Isaac looked at me and then looked at Nate. Isaac calmly, but firmly, said, "You can walk right next to me." Nate didn't have time to respond as they were already walking down the aisle. He walked next to Isaac, who carried the chalice and empty cup, making sure to keep them together so they wouldn't be placed too far apart on the communion table. Nate placed his bread down on the table, made sure it was okay with Jeannie, our associate pastor and head of the youth program, and returned to his seat in the front row.

After Jeannie had led us in the Great Prayer of Thanksgiving and invited us to the table, she called the communion servers to the table. The church Session had approved our request to let the youth serve communion since it was Youth Sunday, so we had selected seven of our youth to help Jeannie serve communion. The seven youth stood up and gathered around the communion table. And before I knew it, Nate was back at the table.

Jeannie and the other seven never questioned Nate joining them. Jeannie gave him a half-loaf of bread wrapped in napkin and told him to say, "The bread of heaven," as each person took a small piece to dip in the cup of juice. I saw Nate mouth the words, "The bread of heaven," and I'm sure my mouth was wide open.

Nate stood by Jeannie and served communion to the congregation. He served his parents. He served one of his fellow youth group members who has severe physical and mental disabilities. Nate served communion. And I saw the true face of God.

My youth astound me. They are smart and funny and loving and wise and intelligent and reverent and perfect. They are children of God. They love the people Jesus loved. The speak their minds. They stand up for those who need a voice. They help without being asked. They are children of God.

And this is why I work with the youth of the church. I couldn't wait to get up at 6:30am on Sunday morning to witness their miracles. I couldn't wait to let the rest of the church witness their imperfect perfection. I couldn't wait to see Lyndon overflow the baptismal fount. I couldn't wait to see Emily, Merritt, and Henry overcome their fears and share their wisdom with the world. And I didn't know it, but I couldn't wait to see a young autistic man serve the Lord's supper to the Lord's people.

This past Sunday, I saw the face of God a thousand times...

Belief can.

To live in a world where guns and the designated hitter are banned, a world where we apologize and mean it, where I'm not scared of what might happen and am instead excited about what could happen, where I can close my eyes and go to sleep at night without having to think about what worlds I could have changed and haven't yet, where we aren't afraid to be ourselves because we might get picked on or made fun of, where we trust one another, where love reigns with no room for hate or fear, where I know that my children will have a better life than mine, where I'm inspired by music and art and other people.

A world that doesn't put labels on people, where gay and straight and black and white and Christian and Muslim are afterthoughts, not first impressions, where I'm not afraid to fall in love, where no one gets left behind, no one, and everyone is cared for, where AIDS and SARS and cancer are things we read about in history books instead of the morning paper, where we're free to express ourselves and our opinions and still be respected.

A world that doesn't tell us who we're supposed to be from the time we come home from the hospital, world that lets children grow into their own skin and become who they want to be instead of who we decided they should be all while telling them to reach for their dreams, where failure isn't scary and success isn't either, where we're not afraid of ourselves but instead afraid of what might happen if we aren't ourselves.

A world I can write too much and erase it too many times, where a passionate personality isn't scary, where the things we have don't mean as much to us as they do, where we aren't afraid to speak up for someone who is scared to speak, a world that praises educators and coaches and mentors more than we do athletes and movie stars, where our motivation isn't money, where all are open to the same opportunities, where we support one another in times of need, where our enemies no longer exist, where we can wait to grow up and then keep waiting some more.

These are the things I want. These are the things I hope for. These are the things I need.

Let us all be leaders.

I woke up this morning and, as I do almost every morning, looked at the previous few hours worth of tweets from the long list of people I follow on Twitter. I scroll them fairly quickly on my phone, knowing that I have to be at my desk sooner rather than later, often scanning through them so quickly I miss the text of many of them.

But this morning, one tweet caught my eye that normally wouldn't have. It was retweeted by someone, someone I didn't even think to check who it was, about the United States Congress proving themselves inept once again. In my opinion, I don't think Congress is inept or incapable, I think they're misguided and using their emotions instead of their minds to play the political game.

The tweet caught my eye because it was almost too ridiculous to be true. It said that the United States Congress, one of our three governing branches, had declared pizza to be a vegetable. Upon reading further into the linked article, I came to find out that this was not a ridiculous article by The Onion, but something that had actually happened yesterday. Congress, in reviewing a school lunch bill put forth by President Obama, declared that the sauce on frozen pizza that is served to students would count as a serving of vegetables.

I've had my fair share of school pizza in my day, having eaten lunch in the cafeteria almost every day from 6th grade to 12th grade, and certainly throughout elementary school on pizza day and other select days. A normal school lunch for me during high school would consist of a slice of pizza, french fries, perhaps a bowl of pineapple that had been canned in a surgery syrup, some kind of dessert, and a glass of Dr. Pepper or Coke.

At the time, eating healthy wasn't too close to the front of my mind and I thought nothing of it (while I still eat pretty terribly, I at least know that things I'm filling myself with are bad, so give me a little credit here...). I had no idea that school lunches were government mandating on the amount of certain things that had to be served each day. But I think I would have known that the sauce on my flimsy piece of pizza was not and should not be considered a serving of vegetables.

While this measure passed through Congress after much urging by frozen pizza companies, potato growers, and the salt industry (three organizations that exude the thoughts of healthy eating...), President Obama's jobs billed remains on the table. A bill that would put hundreds of thousands of people back to work and help our country dramatically.

While the jobs bill is held up, Congress also took the time to reaffirm that "In God We Trust" is still our national motto after President Obama mistakenly said it was "E Pluribus Unum" several weeks ago. So, not only are they taking the time to pass measures that will, in the long term, harm our youth, they're also taking the time to be jerks by making sure our President, our leader, is set straight on something that most people probably don't know.

Its only been in the last three or four years that I've come to enjoy politics and really become interested in who I was represented by and what their opinions were. In that time, I've also come to absolutely adore The West Wing and the idealist view of the federal government it often projects.

In the last four years, my political views have shifted dramatically. My learning about the political system and the hot-button issues, along with growing in my own faith and love, have helped me come to my current views and opinions on the world. While those views most-times side with the Democratic party, the two-party political system in this country infuriates me.

Along with our elected Republicans and Democrats not being willing to compromise on most issues, we have also allowed corporations to control legislation with way too much power. Money has always, always been where power stems from in the political arena, but now we're too the point where a group of frozen pizza companies and potato farmers can get processed tomato paste to be declared a serving of vegetables.

"Government, no matter what its failures in the past and in times to come, for that matter, government can be a place where people come together and where no one gets left behind. No one...gets left behind. An instrument of good."

The Occupy Wall Street movement started for this very reason. A group of people got fed up with corporations securing legislation and finding loop holes to continue to do business the way they wanted to instead of the way that was best for all people and the legal way to proceed in a fair market economy. As the protests have grown and more Occupy movements have begun around the country, their message has become scattered and misconstrued, but the fact that dollars can not be votes is the core of their message.

"If our job teaches us anything, it's that we don't know what the next President's going to face. If we choose someone to inspire us, then we'll be able to face what comes our way. Instead of telling people who's the most qualified, instead of telling people who's got the better ideas, let's make it obvious."

In determining who our next President will be, who our next Governor will be, our Mayor, City Council, and who every elected official we'll vote for will be, we have to look at who is best for us, the people that will be represented. We have to find the representative who inspires us and who has the better ideas so that she or he can lead our cities and counties and states and nations into the years to come. We have to leave our emotions and our party affiliations at the door, and vote for who is better for we the people.

My favorite teacher from all my years in school is beginning his political career next week by announcing his run for the Indiana House of Representatives. I was so excited to vote for President Obama in 2008, so excited and so proud, but being able to vote for Mr. Mann would make me just as proud.

These are the kinds of leaders we need; the kind that make us excited to get to the polls and cast our votes so that they can represent us and lead us; the kind that inspire us and have the better ideas.

We can do better, we must do better, and we will do better...

(that's from The West Wing, too!)

Who I am loves who I've been.

An old friend and I were reminiscing about our childhood on Facebook today. I had posted that I was starting to get excited for Christmas and she brought up a futuristic Christmas musical we did at church when we were 8-9-10 years old. I don't remember how far into the future this musical was supposed to have taken place, but our view of that random year was terribly skewed. All of us made hats out of tinfoil and we used Game Boys to make electronic sounds. My guess is the future in our minds was the year 1999 and 2011 wasn't even a glint in our eyes.

Looking back on that musical was great, both because of how much I enjoyed my childhood and because of how funny the situation we put ourselves in was, looking back on it at least. As I look back at the last 20 years of my life, almost nothing has turned out as I thought it would. I might not have been as far off as thinking we'd be wearing foil hats and robot noises would dominate our ears, but very little of what I thought my life would be has come to be.

As a child, our family was huge. Four grandparents, two parents, an aunt and uncle, us three kids, and several great aunts and great uncles and cousins coming in and out of town over different holidays. There would be some Christmas mornings that we would spent two or three hours opening presents, taking the time to let each person open one gift at a time, one by one, no matter how many gifts there were or how many people were in our perfect circle.

As the years have gone by, our family has changed dramatically. My aunt and uncle, who I consider some of my largest influences, are now divorced. Three of my grandparents have passed away. And none of the three children in the family live in our hometown.

The thoughts I had about what my future was going to look like were idealistic to say the least. I still have my idealistic personality, but what I want isn't as picture-perfect as what I used to think I deserved. I used to think I would be married and have kids by the time I was 25. I used to hope to be a millionaire by the time I was 30.

As I've grown, I've realized you can't just put a certain age on goals like this. If you do, you're only setting yourself up for failure. I still have goals and I will always have dreams, but they aren't nearly as selfish as my dreams used to be. I still want a wife and kids and a house and to have enough money to not have to worry about it, but most of all, I want to be happy. I want peace and equality for all persons. These are my new ideals.

I've now been in Nashville for more than four years. I love it here. I have friends whom I adore, a church that fills me completely, a job that I'm still learning, but am very good at, and a life to call my own. I've learned that I like to cook. I've heard my call for youth ministry. I've started to take risks I didn't used to take. And I'm so happy.

Though the person I am today is in some ways completely different from the person I was five years ago, I am still the Midwestern guy I was raised as at heart. I am growing more and more like my parents every day. The future may have changed from what I thought it would be, but that's not as scary as it used to be.

Honduras - Day X

As I was writing my daily recaps, I was surprised at the amount of detail I could remember from each day. Our trip to Honduras had a huge impact on my life. I worked harder than I ever have, I was given responsibilities that I've never dealt with before, and I was forced to be more caring than I have ever been.

Though my writings were long-winded and detailed, I also forgot a few things that, at the time, seemed note-worthy. On our first night at the ranch, all of the girls screamed in unison after finding a huge moth outside their room. I heard them scream, but could tell it was not a fearful, "we need help" scream, so I stayed in bed. They then proceeded to lock themselves out of their room and had to wake us up to unlock their door. After our long day of travel, this was a minor blip in my memories of the day that was.

On Wednesday morning at the ranch, we all gathered around the cross for a quick devotional with the ranch staff. Then, on Wednesday night, after we had practiced singing "Light the Fire," I picked up my guitar bag without having zipped it securely. My guitar fell out and made the worst sound a guitar can make as it hit the solid concrete porch. My heart raced for five minutes afterwards, both in fear after the initial drop and in relief that, somehow, it wasn't damaged. With a long workday and a long night up taking care of Emily, neither of these moments stood out in my memory.

The moments like these were fun and scary and important at the time, but as the impact of our trip absorbed itself into my heart and soul, these inconsequential moments faded away. Yes, I still remembered numerous other details that probably didn't matter much either, but this is the nature of the human memory.

Since I've been home, I've had some kind of dream almost every night that I was back in Honduras. I might not have been in a familiar setting from our trip, but I knew I was in Honduras and I was always with at least one of our group. After these dreams, I wake up and it takes me several seconds to figure out where I am. My bedroom looks foreign as I wake up thinking I should be in my bed at the ranch.

I take these dreams as a sign that I'm holding onto our experience, that my body and mind refuses to let go of our eight day trip to a new land. I also see these dreams as a sign that I can not allow myself to revert to the life I lived before I made the trip. That's not to say I led a terrible life three weeks ago, but I now am able to see what is truly important in this world and what isn't.

Most of our group shared part of our stories in church today. I started the presentation by introducing the youth and adults and telling the congregation a brief summary of our trip. Several times, I emphasized how proud I was of the youth for the work they had done and the way they represented Second.

My heart has been heavy since we arrived back in Nashville. I miss spending my evenings sitting in a hammock and joking with my friends and my youth. I miss going to bed at the end of the day knowing that the work I did that day made a difference in the life of many people. I wonder what is my place in the field. I hope that I'm serving God to the best of my ability.

I'm not sure where my journey will go from here, but I do know that I will never again take the luxuries that this country offers for granted. I know that I will never again complain about having to work hard. And I know that youth ministry is my calling; it makes me go.

Honduras - Day 8 - I miss my friends.

Saturday morning began around 8am for me. I had enjoyed seven hours sleep in our wonderful hotel room. The floor of our room was covered in pillows and luggage. David was still asleep when I got up for the first time on our trip. I got up and took a shower and then got dressed.

Once I was packed and ready to leave for the airport, I went around and made sure all of the kids on our floor were awake. To my surprise, they were all awake and ready to go to breakfast. I went back to the room to see if David was ready yet, which he almost was, and then went to breakfast while he finished packing.

A few of the youth were still in the restaurant eating when I arrived. The long buffet tables had large dishes of pancakes, plantains, rice & beans, and fresh fruit. A chef was standing behind part of the table and would make omelets to order. After a week of limited food options, being able to choose what we ate was great. Knowing today would be a long day in airports, I decided to leave my granola bars in the room and have a bigger breakfast of pancakes and fruit.

As 9am, the time we had to meet Ali and our drivers in the lobby to leave for the airport, grew closer, we all went back to our rooms to gather our luggage. I double-checked with all the youth to make sure they were packed and had them start making the trip down the elevator to the lobby.

When we all arrived in the lobby, the same bell hop that had taken our bags the evening before grabbed our bags and set them in a corner. We weren't sure he knew where we were all going, but Ali told us we could trust him to make sure they were put in the proper van. After we turned in our room keys, we said goodbye to the group from Georgia who was staying another day to see more of the city.

We piled into the vans for one last drive together. The drive from the hotel to the airport was fine, with traffic thinner than it had been the morning before and the streets wider than they were in the downtown area. The morning air was cool, but we could still feel the thick pollution that covered the city.

We drove by a Chili's, a Burger King, a Wendy's, a Dunkin' Donuts, a Church's Chicken, and a Domino's Pizza on our way to the airport. As we approached the airport, I felt a sense of sadness that I would have to leave this country that I had just grown to love. I was still broken hearted after not being able to say goodbye to the village two days earlier.

We got to the airport, unloaded all of our luggage, avoided the men who tried to help us with our luggage who were in search of American dollars, and started to head into the airport. I shook Ubaldo's hand and thanked him several times for all of his help throughout the week. He smiled at me and thanked me back. This was the first time I had seen him smile all week.

We got in line to check-in with our airline and had to say goodbye to Ali. As one of the airline employees checked our passports, we would enter the check-in line. Ali stood by the back of the line and gave us each a big hug as we left her care.

I can't not say enough about how big Ali's heart is and how much she cares about her job. Her passion is infectious. Her joy overflows. God pours through her.

I was last in line to make sure that all of our youth got through the line safely. After all of the youth had told Ali goodbye, it was my turn to do the same. Standing more than a foot taller than her, I bent down and hugged her for several seconds. I thanked her for everything she had done through the week, for helping us in the village and especially helping us when Emily was sick, and told her how awesome she was. She smiled at me and said goodbye. She walked away, ready to welcome the next group she would host that would land in a couple hours.

We went through the line fairly quickly and David made sure that he and I secured exit row seats on our first flight. This meant we would be separated from the rest of our group, but we would have more leg room, so I was fine with the change.

We gathered in a small group while David went through the line to pay our exit fees. In order to leave Honduras, you have to pay about $38 per person. I had never heard of an exit fee before this trip, but I thought it was a small price to pay to get back to my home. While David was in line, we let the kids have 20 minutes to go get breakfast and do some last-minute souvenir shopping.

I stayed with their backpacks and talked with the two or three youth that had decided to stay as well. We watched the people come and go, some of them Honduran and many of them American. Within 20 minutes, everyone was back and we went upstairs to go through security.

The security check in Tegucigalpa was much more thorough than anything we experienced in Nashville. Nashville had run us through the full-body scanners, but this morning they checked our bags by hand twice before we boarded the planes. They took my aloe vera gel that I had forgotten to put in my checked luggage.

Once we had all made it through security, some of us taking longer than others, we made our way to our gate. In order to get to the gate, you had to walk through a large store that sold perfumes, wine, top-shelf liquor, and many other expensive items that I hadn't seen anywhere in this country until now. Thankfully, we made it through the store without any of the youth stopping to look at the expensive goods around us.

We found the gate and sat down to wait for boarding to begin. A little girl who was maybe six years old was brought to our gate by an airline employee and seated next to some of our female youth. She had dark skin so our group started to speak to her in Spanish, hoping to comfort her since she would be flying alone. She sat silently for a minute looking at them and then said, "I speak English." This brought a huge round of laughter to our group and helped ease any nerves for the flight that waited for us.

We soon boarded, with our 12 youth and Tara in the back of the plane and David and I in the middle exit rows. I was seated between a college-aged girl that looked just like a girl I used to date and a former Methodist minister named Scott. The girl had been in Honduras doing mission work for the last month and was ready to go home. Scott had been on a pastor's retreat for his new church, some kind of monk-like organization I was unfamiliar with.

We all talked for the first thirty minutes we were on the plane. I talked with the girl, whose name I never got, about the work she had been doing and the work I had been doing. I talked to Scott about the work both of our groups had been doing and about the Methodist church, since we both have ties to the church.

One we took off, our row grew silent and we all threw put in earbuds to drown out the noise of the plane. I was in a a very somber mood this morning, not wanting to leave this great country and still heavy-hearted over not having been able to say goodbye to Carlos and Alex.

As our flight continued, I got out my journal which had gone untouched for five days now. I started to write whatever came to mind. I wrote a quote from a John Mayer song. I wrote a quote from a Tony Campolo sermon. I wrote about my anger. I wrote about how selfish I was for being so angry and sad. I wrote.

I realized how crazy I must have seemed if either of my seatmates had been reading what I was writing and quickly turned the page of my journal. I had been listening to the saddest music I had on my iPod. I was torturing myself.

And then I realized how selfish I was being. I had wrote about possibly being selfish five minutes earlier, but they were nothing more than ramblings. Finally, my words had hit me. I was focusing so much on what I had missed that I ignored all of the things I had done.

I spent three days in El Rodeo. I met Carlos, Alex, and their families. I worked alongside them for two days. I threw my frisbee with their children. I laughed and prayed with them. How could I forget all of this and focus on my own sadness?

In this moment of realization, I was filled with joy. In this moment, I became a better person. I realized that the sacrifice I had made in staying at the ranch on Thursday was my responsibility, not my downfall. I realized that the things I had done that day made me a better man. I was caring, compassionate, loving, and forgiving on that day. I had never had to take care of someone like I did with Emily that day; I'm better for having not gone to the village that day.

If David had not suggested to me to ask for an exit row on this flight, these thoughts might have never crossed my mind. I might have never pulled out my journal and started writing the random things that were in my head. It's funny how life works sometimes.

Once we landed, David and I exited the plane and waited for the youth. We were back in America. With the time changes from Honduras to Miami, it was just past 5:00 in the evening. Once everyone had deboarded from the plane, we stopped at the bathroom, and began the long walk to customs.

The Miami airport goes on forever. We walked for 10 minutes, took a two minute ride on a train, and walked another 10 minutes before we finally reached the customs desks. We filled out the appropriate forms and took our places in line. Once we got through the lines, we had to collect our luggage, wait in another line, and then hand our baggage to the airline employees to be scanned through the customs scanners. This process seemed to be more confusing than functional. All we did was pull our bags from the baggage claims and drag them about 75 feet to be placed in a large pile of luggage that would be heading to Nashville.

We headed towards security for the last time. We had to wait about 15 minutes in line, but it was no big deal. None of us were stopped for a random check and all our carry-on luggage made it through the scanners with no problems. One of our girls aunt and uncle lived in Miami, so David went with her to meet them so they could take her out to dinner during our four hour layover. The rest of us headed to our gate to meet David when he caught up with us.

The walk from security to our gate was almost as long as our walk from our plane to customs had just been. We walked for ten minutes, took another ride on the raised, electric train, and then walked for five minutes before finding our gate. Some of the youth started complaining about having to walk to our gate before we let them go to have dinner, but I knew it was better that they know where they needed to be before we let them go. It's good to be in charge sometimes.

Once we had found our gate, the very last one in our terminal, I started to tell the youth their instructions for our stay in Miami. We had a little over three hours left before we our plane would start boarding, so I told them they had two and a half hours to do whatever they wanted in the airport. As I spoke, everyone within two of three rows of where I stood got quiet and was watching me. I didn't think I was yelling, but there must have been some sense of authority in my voice as I spoke. These moments crack me up.

The youth left the gate quickly in two groups and Tara and I sat to wait on David. He found us two minutes later and we started to look for a place to eat dinner. Having watched the cooking show the night before, David was in search of a hamburger for dinner. Tara and I just wanted somewhere that we could sit down and relax for a few minutes.

We decided on a restaurant that had a cheeseburger on the menu and featured an island theme, appropriate for Miami. It felt odd, once again, to not have any youth around us, but it also felt great. We ordered our food and talked about the week that had been. We talked about how proud we were of the group. We talked about what they did that made us laugh. And we talked about life.

I had a chicken sandwich and fries for dinner this night. It was overpriced and on any other occasion would have been average at best, but tonight it was one of the best meals I have ever eaten. After dinner, I ordered a piece of key-lime pie to-go that I would eat at the gate later. It wasn't great pie, but it was good and I ate it quickly a couple hours later.

Once we had finished dinner and enjoyed a few more minutes without our twelve teenagers, we headed back to the gate to charge our phones and relax for the last hour before our flight would board. About a third of the group was already back at the gate, huddled in a tight group reading a magazine that one of the girls had bought. The rest of the group wandered back within a few minutes and we all waited for our flight to board.

Knowing we only had two more hours in the air before we would be back home, we were all anxious to board our flight and head home. We all used the restroom one last time and started to gather our things as our boarding time grew closer. They finally called for our flight to board and we headed to the door of our gate.

This was a regional flight, so we would be boarding the flight via stairs after walking onto the tarmac. The walk from the gate to our plane took about three minutes and it was a fairly warm night in Miami. Everyone who was going to Nashville stood in a long line while we waited to board our flight. All of the youth were fairly wound-up at this point, so they were singing songs and making everyone laugh.

After we stood on the tarmac for about 10 minutes, we started to wonder what was going on. An airline employee was standing with us, but he didn't know what was going on either. After ten more minutes, they told us to go back inside. We made the long walk back to our gate and were all seated close to the counter so we could hear what was going on.

It turns out that the captain for the flight had gotten sick and was not able to fly. We all let out a good humored boo as we heard this news and settled in for what we hoped was a short delay. As every flight came in or left from our gate, we asked anyone who resembled a pilot if they could captain our flight. They must have known what was going on because they all apologized and said no with big smiles on their faces.

After about an hour of waiting, our captain had arrived. Re-energized by this news, we anxiously boarded our plane and were more than ready to take off. Almost all of us were seated together on the small plane, so we talked as we prepared for our departure. I had a window seat for the first time in our travels.

As we took off, I watched the lights of Miami engulf my view. You could see the beach and ocean in the distance and everything else was covered in lights. Everyone who could see out of a window watched the bright lights in awe as we rose higher into the sky.

Once we were outside of Miami, the flight grew very quiet and almost all of us fell asleep one by one. I had not been tired when I boarded the flight, but the dark night sky out my window and the dim lights in the cabin lulled me to sleep.

I woke up about 90 minutes later as we were flying over the southern suburbs of Nashville. My eyes were tired and dry, so dry that the view through my contacts was blurry. I tried to take them out and put some water on them, but my eyes were so tired that it didn't matter. We were close enough to home and my brother, Jeff, would be at the airport to drive us so I didn't need to see the worldly clearly at the point.

We finally landed and made a long trek across the runways at the airport to find our gate. We got our things and got off the plane. I waited for one of the employees to get my guitar from underneath the plane while the rest of the youth headed towards the gate. Once I had emerged from the doorway, the youth took off quickly towards the baggage claim area to meet their parents.

As we walked up past security, we could see the parents of our twelve youth standing and anxiously waiting for us. One of them was taking pictures of us as we walked and another held his arms out with gifts for David, Tara, and I. The gifts were very much appreciated, but certainly not needed.

Within five minutes, all of the youth had found their parents, collected their bags, and left the airport. It was well passed 1am by this point, so we were all too tired for proper goodbyes and thank yous.

Jeff led Tara and I to the parking garage to load our bags into the car and make one last journey home. We dropped Tara off, made sure she was safely inside, and started out for home. I got home, took my contacts out, and was in bed within two minutes. It had been a long day, but a good one. I was glad to be home, but I missed Honduras so much.