Thursday was pretty predictable — a frenetic scramble around the office to tie up loose ends so I could leave on my trip without them. You all know that I am extremely persnickety about my public persona. It is hard to look suave and debonair as I saunter through the airport when I have loose ends sticking out of my pockets, bags and brain.
I had the vast pleasure of getting done ten minutes early, instead of ten minutes late, so my chauffeur and I meandered over to Orange County Airport, consciously shifting out of frenetic into anticipatory savoring mode.
After check in, TSA and the Admiral’s Club, boarding time came. About half the people made it on when they announced that the plane was significantly busted and we would all have to get off while they made other plans.
I headed back over to the Admiral’s Club, delighted that Lillian was at the desk. I was second in line. Their plan was to use another plane that would be there three hours later but that meant a lot of missed connections. She wrestled the computer into submission with the help of tech support and rerouted me out of LAX with a non-stop flight to Heathrow, on my way further on.
On the way to the taxi that would drive me (at their expense, through rush hour traffic on THE 405) I stopped and asked the TSA agent if I could bring a box of See’s Candy through security. They said “yes” which is splendid because Lillian was heroic in her pursuit of getting me to my Exhorter city on time for God’s agenda. She is a sparkling Exhorter herself and shall certainly receive her box of chocolates next time I fly through Orange County.
The flight out of LAX was one of the brand new 777-300 birds. The original Boeing 777 was the Cadillac of the air, so the new one must be the Mercedes. It represented a spectacular upgrade over the plane I would have been on from Dallas to London. If this is the firstfruits of the trip, it looks like it is going to be quite delightful.
As I was settling in, God reminded me of the time I went through LHR on my way to Africa and He had me deal with an AHS in me. I thought at the time it was quite bizarre that I should do it alone, and there of all places in the world, but I did, and it was successful and immense.
I knew He was not just rummaging around in the files when He tripped over a forgotten memory. This was more along the lines of “Heads Up, Son.”
Cue card duly noted.
I slept wonderfully on the long flight over the pond and just as the wheels went down, prior to landing, Father instructed me to take on an AHS I knew about in someone else — without their knowledge, permission or participation.
What is it with Heathrow and AHS evictions???? That is the weirdest anointing for an airport I have ever seen. One of these days, when the world is a tad bit less benighted, there will probably be a shop in this airport, sandwiched in between the pub and the electronic gadgetry store with a sign saying “Dump your AHS here.”
Meanwhile, back in Realityville, I dug in with the assignment. We touched down. My phone went through the complicate mating ritual with a foreign carrier. I tossed a “How are you?” SMS in the direction of the person in question and got back an immediate response. They had started having a wave of panic attacks that had begun out of the blue five minutes before.
I explained what I was doing and that they were feeling the panic of the AHS. They were not overly comforted by that. Panic is panic when you are feeling it and hanging a label on it doesn’t dissipate it.
The next two hours were wild and wacky as I deboarded, found my next airline, went through security, found the BA Club, and eventually boarded my next flight, all the while highly engaged with the spiritual realm with my spirit and nearly reducing my cell phone to a puddle of seared chips from the tsunami of SMS I wrote with my soul and my fingers.
The AHS was paired (not shared) with one in a portal where she had once lived so we had to deal with that one and that land as well.
About three minutes before the next flight took off, she broke free. I instructed her to sleep if she could, saying I would check in when I arrived at my destination.
I dozed on the next flight after enjoying the sunset from the air — always a treat for me.
On arrival, a quick SMS indicated that Sally was reasonably well. No pain in her head, no chatter, more peace, but a sense of being empty and disoriented. That is a pretty normal profile after that large of an eviction. Lacking the time and the energy for a proper celebration of the immense event, I just laid it down and proceeded with the rather earthy task of getting from the airport to my abode.
I somewhat clumsily navigated the bus and taxi system and by 10:15 p.m. I had gotten myself to the guest house where I will be staying. The hostess gave me the guided tour, ascertained that the wireless worked on my computer and then departed.
The decor suggests that she is quite peripatetic and eclectic. The place is decorated in Modern Global Hodge Podge style. An advertisement for Nobleza Gaucha yerba from Argentina awkwardly shares space with photos of Mao and French tennis players, a card from a gift shop in South Africa, an iridescent Hindu goddess and some English ballerinas practicing.
I showered then slept, awaking periodically to deal with the peripatetic duvet — a common problem with those wretched inventions.
I got up around 8:30 local time on Saturday and checked e-mails to see how the launch of AHS 2 went. Downloads were abundant but there were enough album sales to justify Mateo hiding in Texas for awhile. Genevieve forgives rather quickly, but I do imagine she will leverage the situation to compel some level of penance from Mateo whenever he returns. It will be intriguing to see what she comes up with to make this faux pas a memorable (i.e. learning) experience for him.
E-mails having been given short shrift, I prowled around the kitchen where the hostess had left some odds and ends for breakfast. It was there that I discovered peach/passion fruit yogurt. I have delighted my palate with many delectable yogurts over the years, but this was a new flavor for me.
Before the end of container, I knew I was addicted.
Definite bad news.
I rushed to the computer and did a search for “peach/passion fruit addiction twelve step program.” To my immense relief, the aforementioned program does not exist.
Definite good news.
I get to indulge in my new addiction for the foreseeable future while hiding behind the excuse that there is no help available.
Breakfast over, I snagged a taxi to the city center. This well seasoned road warrior forgot to bring the adapter for the local electrical sockets. The computer and cell phone are savage gluttons.
How could I forget something as basic as that when I have a basket full of them at the office? Go figure. Either too much frenetic concern about loose ends, or a set up by the Angel in Charge of Setups on this trip.
When I arrived at city center in the daylight, I discovered that it is the same place where things got scrambled with the bus and taxi last night. Quite fascinating. I would not normally go there at all, but I am now there, involuntarily, twice, in about 12 hours’ time.
Hmmm . . . I forthwith decided to forgive myself for dishonoring my road warrior street cred and blamed it all on the Angel in Charge of Setups. I shall pursue this part of town in more detail another day. Clearly the Angel knows something and is helping me in the treasure hunt.
Having found the requisite doodad, I headed back to my pad and took a nap. Since this is Be Kind to Arthur’s Body Day, I took a second nap, and a third one before getting up late afternoon.
After chugging down a not very enjoyable cup of local tea from the kitchen shelf, I wended my way on foot to the local grocery store to upgrade the gastronomic options. On the way, I walked past a park which just shouted to me with extraordinary excitement that I was there. I don’t know if what I am to see is actually at the park, or just in that direction, but I have a spirit of anticipation over tomorrow. And it feels like land work not a people connection, but nothing is sure considering the finesse and focus of the Angel in Charge of Setups.
As I arrived at the store, I paused to ponder food and Exhorters. It occurred to me that I could not identify any teaching on fasting from an Exhorter point of view. I determined to check the concordance when I returned home, but off hand, I could not remember Paul holding forth on the topic. And for sure, Jesus, the Ultimate Exhorter, made it VERY plain that fasting was a Prophet pass time and He was into banquets, especially if lots of people were present.
Clearly this was a nudge to my spirit from the Angel in Charge of Ambiance. This trip is to be weighted more toward gourmands than aesthetes.
With that important distinction established, I joyously invaded the store and found an ample supply of my new addiction on the shelf. That was chased into my cart by some good old fashioned black tea, some of the staff of life, and sundry other goodies.
As the designated gourmand for the week, I stopped in front of the chocolate shelf and procured a large bar of 60% Amazon chocolate and one of 70% Ecuadorian chocolate. I have not seen any studies on which is superior and given that my father was a connoisseur of chocolate, it seems I should step into his mantle and adjudicate here.
Back home I snacked, pondered, scribbled, celebrated with a friend who is on a particularly torrid journey, discussed Dorothy Sayers’ trinitarian views with an author, checked in on Sally to see what life is like after “surgery” for the AHS and generally drifted through the evening with higher than average connectivity. Apparently this Exhorter land is making me slightly more approachable than my norm.
Sunday morning sparkles with anticipation.
But meanwhile I have to decide whether to do deliverance and inner healing on that duvet, or continue being victimized by its generational deviance.
Copyright October 2013 by Arthur Burk
One block west of a park that knows my name!
P.S. Paul’s only encounters with fasting occurred when he was ordained and when he ordained others. Clearly the Southern Baptist model of ordination-with-gigantic-potluck is simply non-Biblical in the extreme. Would someone please notify Nashville? I am busy over here with more important things.