i’ve been to quite a few places in my lifetime.
i’ve dragged suitcases and backpacks across twelve american states and eight foreign countries spread over three continents.
i’ve been to nineveh. here’s a picture.
most people actually refer to this land as spain. by most, i mean pretty much everyone.
i’ve also been to tarshish.
these are actually the little-known mayan ruins of copán in honduras. i say little known because not a single history book i have ever had the opportunity to read has ever mentioned mayan ruins being in honduras.
it was only the second-biggest city at the peak of mayan civilization. no big deal.
since i never actually managed to blog about my trip to honduras in 2010, let’s take a slight detour to explore more of this mysterious trip.
here’s my brother being a butterfly.
i have no such picture of myself because i have no time for such tomfoolery.
just kidding. ain’t nobody had the time for that until they were finished hiking a whole stinking coffee plantation.
here’s me on a boat, going to the happiest place in the world. (which is not, in fact, disneyland. it’s actually called roatán and it’s an island off the coast of honduras.)
then we got off the ferry and boarded a train of thought to spain.
because the thing about neurons is they don’t need to cross the ocean to board a train of thought to spain.
this is me on the way to nineveh – er, spain.
see how excited i am? this is before i pitched a fit about going to nineveh while sitting in a plane on the tarmac in paris.
it wasn’t one of my finer moments, that’s for sure.
here’s the thing about nineveh: it doesn’t look pretty or glamorous or exciting but that’s right where we find the kingdom.
& the thing about the kingdom is it demands we pull away from that which would lead us to tarshish.
(incidentally, if you’re headed there & need a whale rescue service, i know a guy.)
i have a confession: i fled from nineveh for seven months after i grudgingly went to the nineveh that was spain. in this case, nineveh was church.
you read that right. i didn’t go to church for seven months.
i went straight from fleeing the nineveh that was spain and my work there to fleeing the nineveh that was church and you want to know what’s really ironic?:
i finally let God pull me together long enough to get me out of bed early the first sunday of march and not even two hours later, this is what i found Him doing: pulling other things together super quick for me to snag a spot to the nineveh across the sea.
so basically, i’m headed to spain again this summer.
no big deal.