Israel.  A country I’ve longed to go to.  A place where many Believers of The Way, The Christ, The Good News, want to go.  It’s a longing from somewhere deep in the soul to  walk where my Savior walked, to see his country, his home.  So when I found out my nephew was going to be part of the worship team on a tour to Israel, I called his mom and said “We’re going.”

Somehow, some way, we were going.  That was her son!  She had to be on this trip.  And so did I.

We got all the finances squared away, got my passport, and began getting emails about the trip:  what clothes to pack and how to pack them, how much money to bring, safety measures to do before and during the trip;  little tidbits of advice as well as important cultural advice.  It was a tour through Living Passages, a company I would highly recommend.  There were four friends going, and we were constantly sending messages back forth via Marco Polo, an app that lets a person video a short message and send it out to an individual or group.  Some were hilarious (Joe’s video, husband of Cindy) and some were a little long-winded that I had to double time to get through (sorry, girls) and some were super helpful or downright laugh-you-silly videos.

The day finally came, and we were off.  We were to catch a plane out of St. Louis and go to Atlanta and catch a plane from there to Paris and from Paris to Amman because we were including a small Jordan trip in there as well.  The big storm that hit Atlanta that evening also hit our plans and knocked us out of flying out to Paris that evening.  After a stressful night and next day, the group got to Paris only to find there were only seven seats on the flight to Amman for eight of the unassigned seat people in the group.

Wes, the pastor, the wild young man that God changed into a quiet, caring, compassionate, wise leader stayed behind in Paris.  The airline was kind and put him in a hotel where he slept for ten hours thus arriving another day late.

But the whole group was finally in Jordan expecting great things.  At least I was expecting great things, a great movement within me the minute I touched my feet to the land that Moses and Aaron and Jacob and Abraham had walked.

And it was exciting!  It did move me.  Gently.  Appreciatively.  Just not the way I was expecting.  I wanted the Holy Spirit to take me out, knock me on my knees, do something that said “You are walking on holy ground.”

It wasn’t happening.  Ah, but Israel was next.  There is where I had best be ready for whatever was about to happen.