Traveling is a funny thing. It brings out the kindred spirit in many people. I feel like its probably a karma thing. I was in the Atlanta airport and two frazzled women didn't know how to get to their gates in my terminal so I walked them both where they needed to go. We parted ways and wished each other good luck and that was that. Later, I found myself sitting on the plane marveling at how many separate mission groups there were. Me not being the hugest fans of certain missions I was skeptical of the people who kept asking me if I was going home. Its a wonder how when you are of darker skin how people treat you totally different than the rest of the people wearing their matching church shirts and crosses. Its probably not fair because they are all well meaning people but I always have harsher judgement of these people, but that changed about half way through my plane ride. The guy next to me, a few years older than me made sure that while I was asleep that I still got a complementary sandwich and sprite. I had a slight change of opinion when I later found out that they were also missioning (though lacking the cheesy matching shirts with the goofy print announcing where they were going). I was just starting to try and open up my mind when a woman across the aisle whispered to me very slowly and clearly, "Are you excited to be going home to *your* people?". I was so stunned I just stared back at her. What do you mean *my* people, lady? Isn't America supposed to be an mixing pot of all sorts of religions, races, cultures, etc? I decided the best thing to do was respond in a stereotypical southern accent "Nawwwww, I'm going to study the corals!" Her face was priceless. My opinion of missioners is on hold for now.
As I am writing this, I'm sitting in the airport I'm San Pedro Sula, Honduras safe and sound. When I came out I was taken aback at how many glass walls there were separating me from everything else. And then the lines. Don't even get me started. First the migration line where I realized I hadn't filled out a form on the plane because of my extended nap, but a nice man behind me flagged down a military person who brought me a what I needed. As they were conversing in Spanish I realized what learning another language can do to you. Every time someone spoke me, Chinese popped into my head. Wrong language my brain kept saying, but for the life of me my elementary school Spanish was failing me. Next, the woman behind the desk finger printed me and raised her eyebrows at where I was going. And then onto finding my bright orange suitcase in the huge pile of luggage at the other end of the room. Thank goodness for my love of obnoxious colors. Then on to the customs like where I had to throw as quickly as possible all of my luggage onto a belt to be scanned. Limes were nonexistent at this section. And then finally out here to the place where everyone waits.
Let me tell you. Compared to the Atlanta airport, Americans are cold hearted people. There were whole families gathering to welcome a grandmother in a wheelchair equipped with balloons, signs, flowers, and most of all crying. I always wonder what the stories of these people are. Where they were coming from, why they were here, etc.
So for now, I'm sitting on the floor watching toms of kids pretend they are penguins on the slippery marble floor. A kid next to me busted out his best break dance moves to show his mom. Another ran behind me and is climbing all over an unattended scissor lift with what appears to be his twin.
Until next time!
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