It seems like the first day of a vacation should be marked by anticipation. As a child, vacations were a fantastic joy.
I was seven or eight years old the first time I went to California, my family took a vacation to Disneyland that summer. Something about this seemed overwhelming & wonderful to me. Maybe it was the years of hype which a child is exposed to or the satisfaction of having been somewhere which others had spoken so highly. Whatever it was that excited me, it worked.
I could hardly sleep the night before the trip. In retrospect, this is really odd since we were going to travel (standby) all day long the next day to California. But I could not see the path for the destination, so sleep was a bit scare.
When dad came to wake me up the next morning, he snuck into the room & leaned over to get my attention. Little did he know that I had dreamt about the Disneyland all night long, and in my hurry to get to the Magic Kingdom I sprung up from flat on my back, simultaneously head-butting him in the nose. Dad was understandably caught of guard, “Shannon, what are you doing?!”
“Are we going to Disneyland?”
“Yes, but why’d you jump out of bed like that?”
“Sorry? When do get to Disneyland?”
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That day went on & on. We were bumped from flights & bounced from Lubbock to Albuquerque to Phoenix to the moon to LA. The planes were hot & crowded; when the flight attendant called our family’s name to be bumped one last time my heart was broken. We had to collect our things & leave the plane while everyone watched us.
“I’m never going to get to Disneyland.”
When we finally arrived in California it was too late to do anything productive (like go hang out with Goofy). I’m pretty sure we went to a neat restaurant, but not even that could distract me; I still had only one place on my mind.
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The next morning we got up & walked to the front gate. Since we had a hotel across the street from the park we did not have to bother with parking. Instead we walked what seemed like an hour just to get to the ticket booth.
I remember that the main entrance has an obstructed view into the park. From the gate, all one could see was an embankment of bright flowers. I had no particular interest in flowers at the time, except even now I can remember looking at them. There was something about the California sun and those bright colors which made me feel loose & free. Like I was about to go into a place full of life.
Now here’s the most important part. Standing there, at the gate & behind the embankment, the finest moment of the trip was about to pass. Anticipation was about to expire. Whether the park lived up to the hype or not would no longer matter because my eyes would be opened to the reality of the place.
By the time we become adults we realize that Disneyland is nothing more than a well marketed amusement park with mediocre rides & over priced soft drinks. But a child still knows how to expect, to long for something. A child has not been broken of the belief that just around the embankment there lies a joy worth waiting for.
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As the years have gone by I have hedged my expectations a bit. For example, when I go to Colorado Springs I know that there will be cool clean air & Pikes Peak, but I do not expect that my life will be changed by them.
Somehow — despite our expectations — these places do manage to change us. The difference, however, between the child and the adult is that of expectations not personal transformation. The child expects something unreasonable (lifelong happiness from an amusement park), and the adult is unwilling to expect anything for fear of disappointment.
In this way, adulthood seems to be more like a skill than a stage in life. Where the best “adults” are able to hide their emotions so as to not appear disappointed at any time. A well trained adult avoids the exposure of their thoughts to prevent the publicity of their naiveté.
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Life in Houston has been rewarding of late. I work hard & play hard at school & church. I have friends & family that love me. My first house looks to be appreciating. Nonetheless, life is more that food, drink & shelter. It is more than academic progress & respect of peers.
When I moved to Houston in 1994 I had a Texas-sized chip on my shoulder. This boy from Lubbock was going to overcome my small-town past & conquer the big city. I left the wide open sky of West Texas for the pine trees & billboards of America’s third coast.
I guess that chip hasn’t ever come off my shoulder. Actually, I think I’ve become accustomed to having it around. The only thing is that somewhere along the line I became a third coast kid. I aggressively eliminated my small town accent & decided that a skyline was well served by a few skyscrapers.
Garrison Keller says that people from small towns work harder to pronounce French words correctly. Well, I do not know about French, but I took great joy that even the people in London could not tell what part of the U.S. I was from.
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Tonight on my way to Waco I managed to come upon the crest of a hill at sunset. There were no clouds in the sky, no wild colors, no particular trick of lighting, but I was deeply moved at this new vista. I could see the full horizon at dusk and it made my heart sing.
Remember this, dusk is a sacred time for anyone from West Texas.
Ironically the very thing which draws criticism to the Great Plains, viz. flatness, is much loved by her residents. Flat open spaces make for a big sky. At dusk in West Texas you know your smallness. Looking around, the great dome presses down and nothing blocks your eyes from seeing into infinity.
Tonight, at the top of my hill, I could see the full horizon in every direction. Something about this very nearly brought me to tears. I was a child again, the sky was open.
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This week I set out for the Rocky Mountains. Day one has taken me to Waco to see Jon & Christi Osborne at their new home. They have greeted me with joy and open arms and I suppose that if the whole trip were only to see that sunset & these friends it would have been worth it. But the path is much longer than that.
Day one is about remembering that life is not best lived inside the boundaries of safe expectations. In my case it would be safe to expect cultural richness in Santa Fe & world class snowboarding in Vail, but even these will fail me if I expect too much of them.
Rich Mullins said that if we look to our friendships for meaning and fulfillment we will ultimately destroy them. No human relationship can contain the breadth of life in even one human heart. Neither can a voyage.
But in Christ we come up against something which is entirely “other” from those things which disappoint. He is at one in the same time the answer to our questions and the questions themselves. In him we are free not to hedge our expectations.
Christ invites us to yearn deeper, to beg for more. He does not criticize us for expecting too much but, rather, too little. Or, that we’ve wanted things which will not satisfy.
When we open up our stories to His we experience life & that to the full. Not just “fire insurance” from Hell for ourselves or more balanced social justice for others, but a better life in the spirit of all the redeemed today.
So I’m called to open my story and trust that the well is deep enough for my greatest expectations. Christ will satisfy where others have failed.
Saturday was shaping up to be a stressful day. My lowest-among-the-standby-passengers status was making things look pretty bad on a popular travel day. 
A drop of fellowship materialized in an otherwise drab day. Solitude had turned into a reunion filled with laughter. Tim & I both remained a little overwhelmed at it all.
Tim & I had lunch near Union Station (photos) and then we threw a Frisbee around the Capitol Building’s lawn. Unfortunately, just as quickly as our reunion had commenced it came to a close. I was on the last flight back to Houston in very nearly the last open seat on the plane.
