Chicago

Whenever I leave Montana I cry.  It's inevitable.  As I walk through the Bozeman airport I am filled with anger, sadness, and all things grumpy.  I make no eye contact with the pleasant security officers checking my carry on's.  I wipe my tears as the ticket agent takes my boarding pass on to the plane.

Once on the plane I'm not much more pleasant.  I don't want a drink.  I don't want to talk.  I just want to sulk.  So I bury my head in my sweatshirt and drift in and out of sleep.

This particular trip I had a layover in Salt Lake City.  Walking crankily through the airport I glanced outside and saw the mountains surrounding the airport.  To add to the beauty there was a pink sunrise pouring their color over the horizon.  I felt a little dumb for being so cranky, but I was not quite ready to let go of being sad.  

On the last leg of the journey I quickly put in my earphones and selfishly never even said a word to the lady sitting next to me (then again she did sleep most the trip).  I drifted in and out of sleep as I watched the clouds go by.

Once we were landed in Chicago, I gathered my luggage from the plane and walked into the airport.  It was in that moment - walking through O'Hare- that I thought, "Chicago's not so bad...I really do like it here..."  And from then on my spirit's were lifted.

The next morning as I was sitting at my little local Starbucks enjoying a soy misto and blueberry scone, I was reminded that I do like it here.  I actually love a lot about where I'm at.  The challenges, the familiarity, the friends...sometimes in the midst of pouting it's hard to see the light on the other end of the journey.  I'm glad the Lord gave me the grace to see the joy of what I have here, where He has called me.