I went on this trip with the concept that I would “give this time to God.” I was approaching the week of travel alone with the expectation of really seeking God, hearing from Him, further being convicted and refined by Him. In short, I had a definite agenda, and I was expecting God to show up and fulfill it when it was time. Come on, it’s your cue, God!

It only took me until about Monday afternoon or so before I was able to see the silliness of my thinking. Who am I to “give time to God?” “Oh no,” I heard Him tell me – “I am giving this time to you. Accept it.” Whether it had something to do with feeling guilty for taking a vacation or whatnot, I had been having a hard time allowing myself to enjoy things – no strings attached, no deep spiritual work to be hashed out, just blessings. Early on in the week, I got a clear message from the Lord that I need to chill out and stop analyzing everything so much, to accept the blessing of the time there, the beauty of it, and trust that I am, indeed, on the right path with Him.

He showed this to me in a funny way. One of the reasons I thought it would be good to go to Cinque Terre is, ironically, because there are lots of American tourists there, even in off-season. Since I knew I would be alone, and likely not even opening my mouth to talk to anyone for 6 or 7 days, I thought it would be nice to be able to eavesdrop and jump into conversations when I was getting lonely. This resulted in me observing lots of stressed-out American moms, peering over their guidebooks, kids and husbands in tow, trying to figure out where this trail led, or when that train arrived, or how to get into the center of town, etc, etc. There was always a panicked look of “we might be lost!” or “we might miss the train!” And this always made me laugh a little bit – these are tiny towns. There is only one street. If you miss the train, there will be another one in 30 minutes! It is IMPOSSIBLE to miss the paths; everyone else is heading in the same direction.

I don’t say this to sound superior, but because it became an object lesson for me. I think that I can approach my spiritual walk in a similar way. I can get overly obsessed about, what is the next step? Am I on the right path? Am I going to miss the next train!?! And so, in that inability to slow down and trust that God is making a way for me, I miss the beauty of where I am. I saw these fellow visitors missing the beauty around them, and I wanted to tell them to take a cue from the Italians and to sit down and drink a tiny cup of coffee very, very slowly. To look at the ocean, and the way birds move, and the motion of laundry waving back and forth in the breeze.

God showed me that all the guidebooks in the world are not as good as one faithful Guide. If I know Him, and stick close to Him, - and I do, and I am – He is going to tell me where to go next, WHEN it is time to go there, and not before. In the meantime, enjoy the beauty and the blessings, and do what you are supposed to do with the next 10 minutes.

Simple enough, right?

Well, since I gave up on expecting any major spiritual fireworks or revelations on the trip, I should have at least known I would be tested on my lesson! Here is my journal from Saturday, March 17^th:

11:00 a.m. – 3 hours after my plane was supposed to have left Genova

This is the day I am asked to trust. 3 ½ hours of sleep after a culture-shock day in the oversexed European city of Genova. The day begins with being locked in the hallway of my B&B. I’ve left the keys in the flat and pulled the door shut, gone down to the main door to find it locked from the inside. I can’t get back into the flat, and I can’t get out. I frantically ring the bell – but it’s 5 am and the landlady isn’t waking. Finally, I find the door button – obscured in a dark corner of the entryway.

Running to catch the city bus to the airport, I step in a sidewalk crack and roll my ankle, with my 20 lb pack strapped to my back, and almost fall over when the shock of pain shoots up my leg. I catch myself and limp the rest of the way to the stop. The bus is late.

Zipping up my coat in the March morning coolness, the zipper splits.

I’m third to check in at the airport, thankful they don’t make me check my bag. In my hurry to make it to the airport, I have forgone a shower. Security confiscates my shampoo.

Waiting over an hour for our plane to land, FOG – little drops of H20 – detours our plane to Torino. Sorry folks, this is RyanAir. We don’t rebook you – you have to get yourself to another airport, yes, at your expense, who do you think we are? Lufthansa? (Here my heart begins to race, the fact of my 3 ½ hours of sleep makes itself known). The offer of rebooking through Pisa (2 hours south by train) will put me in Frankfurt 1 ½ hours after my flight to Riga leaves, and all seats on the Sunday flights to Lithuania and Latvia are sold.

I check other airlines to get me to Frankfurt. 600 euros 1 way. My mind runs through every conceivable option since I’ll have to pay for whatever new ticket they offer. Fly through Berlin? Get to Frankfurt and take a train to Warsaw, then bus to Klaipeda? Funny how yesterday I had thought about just how much I love trains and how lovely it would have been to simply forgo this flight to Germany and have taken the train all the way there. Prescient, it seems!

So, counting the kilometers in euros, I accept the reroute through Pisa at 5 p.m., and figure I will deal with what to do in Frankfurt once I get there. I’ve slept overnight in Hahn before, so I can do it again!

Meanwhile, I am fighting to hold back tears. I HEAR God telling me that He will take care of me one step at a time. My head races ahead – imagining HOW on earth I’m going to get back to Lithuania, HOW I am going to pay for it all, HOW I will sleep, when, and where, and what will I eat… what if, what if..

But, I know the extent of the next 2 – maybe 6 – hours, and that is all I can see. I can weigh options, but have to hold them all loosely and wait to see what happens. It is time for ruthless trust, and a settling down into His palpable presence with me. My heart seizes up most at my aloneness, and wishes I had someone to pray with. I pray for angels and other pilgrims to come alongside.

Head up, out of the itinerary, and onto the Guide.

Here is a breaking, a breaking of all my plans. The choice to practice the radical now-ness of surrender. Not only can I not look ahead to next week or tonight, I can only control my submission to my Father this moment, on this train, for these couple hours, and nothing else. One thing at a time, only.

God make me your cup of praise on this train, in this day, through these hours. Me, your vessel.

2:30 p.m., Pisa Aeropuerto

- And so the weirdness continues… not sure what to make of this one – praying that the Spirit would guide me, I see an American woman on the train platform in Pisa. She looks to be reading a pocket New Testament. I summon the courage to ask, “excuse me do you speak English? Are you reading the Bible?”

“Actually, it’s the Book of Mormon – it’s scripture.”

I plunge ahead anyway. This is not a day I can do apologetics. I say, “I have been praying that I would find a fellow Christian today. I am having a horrible day,” and I unload a bit of my story to her.

“Well, you have certainly found one,” she says, a little cautious in her tone, sizing me up, I’m sure, “here, read this.” And underlined in red in her book (I don’t look too close, read quickly, as if it’s some poison mirror!) she has marked a verse that I hastily read to the effect of “I will lead you and guide you in the way you should go.” Psalm 32:8. But this isn’t that verse. It echoed the Bible enough that I am left only with the memory of what I recognize. I ask her to pray for me, barely able to get a sentence out without choking on tears. She promises she will and asks my name. “I have been reading through the Psalms today,” I say, and add, “I’ve just been praying for the Spirit to guide me.”

And then my train arrived and I got on it to go.

My first thoughts were confused – if I had heard His voice rightly sitting there on the bench. Of if it was a test of my insight and awareness of truth. And I think too of the stories of believing Gentiles – Cornelius in Acts – devout, but without the full revelation of the trust, and how God heard their prayers. So, Father, hear the Mormon woman’s prayers for me – if You can, if she is praying to You. I am humbly in need of your power and trust You to work (surprisingly) in whatever ways You can.

3:15 p.m., Pisa Aeropuerto

Linda’s homemade jam, a gift to take back to Alison, surrendered at security, after a full backpack search. Alas.

4:12 p.m., Pisa Aeropuerto

It’s times like this when I realize that having another person to travel with wouldn’t necessarily make things less stressful, but at least there would be someone to laugh at it all.

Now I have decided to use the unoccupied handicapped bathroom. I discover, after having thoroughly lathered up my hands with soap – the sink is broken. No water. I couldn’t open the door if I tried because of the lack of friction. No paper towels, just a hand dryer. I am laughing, and laughing, and laughing. The people in the hallway probably think a crazy person is using the handicapped room, but I cannot stop laughing, hard, out-loud. Finally, a dribble of water eeks out of the spigot, and I make the most of it.

4:35 p.m., Pisa Aeropuerto, my luck changes –

RyanAir accepts my priority boarding pass still leftover from my Genova flight. Heh, heh – at least I’m getting ONE little perk from this fiasco. A few people ahead of me in line is the kind blond young woman who I’d commiserated with at the Genova airport this morning. We both get on this flight early and chat about the craziness of the day as people board. When a pudgy Italian grandma sits next to me and asks “Italiana?” I reply “no, Americana,” and decide that I’d rather move up a row and sit in the middle next to my new friend. “Good,” she says, “I was looking forward to a nice chat.” I climb over, and she and I talk the whole flight – I don’t even remember take off and touch down! We launch into the typical questions about what do you do, and etc, etc. She’s a German, married to an Italian, a doctor. We discuss the German and Italian medical systems, architecture, what I do at LCC, Dietrich Bonhoffer, God, hope, how science leads back to belief in God, post-communist economy, ecumenism… When we cross the Alps, she moves to let me look out at the mountains. As we land, we introduce ourselves by name and exchange email addresses. Ursula invites me, if I need to, to stay at her family’s place in Heidelburg. She waits for me getting off the plane. Coming into the airport, we meet her parents and they invite me too, to stay with them if I need to, or offer to drive me to a hotel. By this time, I am confident that everything is going to be fine, and getting a seat on a flight to Lithuania the next day is easy (give or take some euros!), and then Ursula and I hug goodbye. She mentions how much she enjoyed talking to me, how it was the bright spot in her day – as it was for me too. I decide to book a hotel, needing sleep and a shower. They pick me up, deposit me at a place with free internet, a sauna, coffee on-demand, The Daily Show playing on television, take-up supper of a kebab and French fries delivered to my door, a clean shower (with shampoo! Mine having been taken), puffy square pillow and clean German duvets.

God made a way for me – and sets my days in order for His reasons for me.