Being a good traveler takes know-how, and I don’t have it. My clothes wrinkle in the suitcase. My purse always gains weight. And I’m continually hunting for items I can’t find. Room keys don’t work smoothly, and fast food starts to taste bad. Road trips often include getting lost, and climbing into a different bed every night is like playing sleep-roulette. I admire people who can travel well.

The founder of Youth with a Mission, Loren Cunningham, has traveled the globe on a continual basis for five decades. He and his wife Darlene, now in their seventies, are enthusiastically celebrating YWAM’s 50^th anniversary by moving in and out of more than fifty countries in 2010, staying a while in each place. And they’re labeling this a “celebration”?

I’m awed by the biblical story of Abram who was told (by God) to leave his home and all things familiar for points unknown. He didn’t resist this challenging assignment even though no specific trip destination was given him. Without complaining, he became a full-time nomad, living in tents and in turmoil, without being able to return home even once throughout the rest of his life, an amazing sacrifice.

A few of the phrases from Genesis 12 are: “So Abram left… He set out… Abram traveled… From there he went on… Then Abram set out and continued… And Abram went…”

That’s just one chapter’s activity for this travelin’ man. Imagine the packing, unpacking and repacking! He had to remember everything from camel food to a water supply. How did he do it?

My Aunt Joyce was a spectacular traveler into her nineties, rolling her clothes and packing her suitcase to look like so many rows of wrinkle-free sausages. She took only what she needed, carefully coordinating outfits and accessories to minimize bulk. If she bought souvenirs, they were always small and easy to pack. I never saw her rummaging through her things in search of something the way I continually am. And Aunt Joyce slipped in and out of time zones as effortlessly as she tried on new outfits. Although I’ve tried to emulate her, I’ve never succeeded.

I love the old gospel song that says:

“This world is not my home. I’m just a-passin’ through.
My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue.
The angels beckon me from heaven’s open door;
And I can’t feel at home in this world anymore.”

When I get frustrated with my poor travel skills, I’m soothed to think one day all travel as we know it will cease. My tattered suitcases won’t be needed. We’ll be home for good, living in an environment of perfection, absent of all need, especially the need to go anyplace. Sounds pretty good to me.

In the mean time, I forgot to pack socks and will have to wear sandals tomorrow, despite cold temperatures and predicted rain. Once I get back to Michigan, I’ll unpack, then repack to fly to England to meet our precious newborn twins. No doubt I’ll remember the baby outfits and maybe even my socks this time.

Although I’m fairly sure I won’t need to pack the camel food, what else will I forget?

“The Lord said to Abram, ‘Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go…’ Abram was seventy-five years old when he set out.” (Genesis 12:1&4)

It was 1963 when I began hunting for a college. The process wasn’t especially complicated 47 years ago, and I applied to three schools. Rejected by one, accepted by another and given a conditional acceptance by the third (a “yes” but I’d have to live at home), the choice was easy.

Tonight Birgitta and I are bunking on the fourth floor of the massive student union building at the University of Iowa and are scheduled for a campus tour at 8:00 AM. I attended a college with 2500 students; this university has 30,000. My school had girl-dorms and guy-dorms; this school has only co-ed housing. My college had a 10:00 PM curfew on week nights; this school keeps buildings open all night. My college covered several square blocks; this one covers several square miles. And I’m nervous.

But Birgitta is a girl who sets goals and reaches for them. She’s done diligent research, knows what she wants to study, has defined a desire to attend a big school, has applied to five universities and has been accepted by three so far. The world is opening to her, and she’s eager to walk into it while carefully considering later consequences to the decisions she’s making today.

Tonight we both missed Nate to the point of tears, knowing this was his kind of project. He would have had particular interest in the University of Iowa, because he spent one of his high school summers on this campus in an accelerated program for debaters. Had he been with us, wandering the campus this afternoon might have prompted life stories we may not have heard before. When I tried to encourage us both by suggesting Nate might know of Birgitta’s acceptance and our trip to Iowa she said, “Yes, but we can’t get his feedback.”

Well put. And we long for that which we can’t have.

But we’re trying to do our best without him, to ask the right questions and accurately retain the answers.

Birgitta is 19, living within the most critical decade of her life. It’s a difficult time to be without a dad. Between the ages of 17 and 27, the majority of American young people will make the eight most important decisions of their lives, setting the trajectory for all the years to follow:

1. whether or not to attend college and if so, which one
2. whether or not religious faith will matter and if so, faith in what or who
3. what type of friends to choose
4. what to do about addictive substances, smoking, drinking, etc.
5. what career to prepare for and the first “real” job
6. whether or not to marry, and if so, who
7. where to live and begin putting down roots
8. whether or not to have children

Talk about pressure.

Birgitta wants to be proactive about life rather than letting life just happen to her, and she knows choosing a university is her springboard. But she’ll have to find a balance between being diligent in decisions she can control and planning a future she can’t. Landing on that sweet spot in the middle is a venture even seasoned adults find difficult. But though she misses the advice her earthly father would have given her, something tells me Birgitta will do alright, because she knows how to access the counsel of her heavenly Father.

“Be wise… Make the most of every opportunity.” (Colossians 4:5)

Every human breath has permission behind it… from God. None of us would be able to draw the next one, were it not for his go-ahead.

Our newborn twins in England took their first breaths 40 minutes apart, 48 hours ago. Although Thomas and Evelyn’s little lungs were ready to breathe while still nestled inside Katy, God made sure they didn’t try it too soon, a dangerous risk in their unborn, watery world. But as they were born, I believe their Creator moved each of them to take their first draw of earthly air.

It works the same at the end of life. I’ll never forget having my hand on Nate’s chest as he took those last three breaths before he arrived at his divinely-appointed moment to stop breathing, not one breath too few, not one too many. God says “start”, and he also says “finish”.

This weekend Nate’s brother Ken and I met in the Chicago area to attend the wake and funeral of their first cousin, Merrilyn. Although she’s battled cancer for seven years, in recent weeks she took a sudden negative turn when doctors found cancer in new places, and this time she succumbed.

Merrilyn’s life was full to overflowing with crowds of loving people, and she responded in kind. Her daughters, struggling to maintain composure behind the church pulpit today, shared of their best-friend relationship with their mom and the crushing blow it will be to continue life without her.

Among the pastor’s comments was the fact that Merrilyn was a master gardener: “As she tended her gardens, she also tended her relationships. She planted flowers with her children and then her grandchildren, teaching the uniqueness and value of each plant and transferring those principles to the people in her life.”

Merrilyn’s husband “offered the gift of a song” in his wife’s honor, singing with eyes closed and passion strong as he sang and played his guitar:

“If not for you
My sky would fall.
Rain would gather, too.
Without your love I’d be nowhere at all.
Oh! What would I do
If not for you?”

As he sang, I looked around at those struggling to come to terms with Merrilyn’s death, watching them weep. And I seethed with anger that evil Satan has gotten away with bringing death into God’s once-perfect world. Was the devil laughing at those who were crying today? Such a thing is detestable, but probable.

We had our own weapon, however, to fight back today. The funeral service was dominated by multiple Scripture passages, 13 to be precise. And what we heard refutes everything Satan stands for:

“As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you.”

“I will uphold you with my victorious right hand.”

“The eternal God will drive out your enemy before you saying, ‘Destroy him’!”

“As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you.”

Buried in Merrilyn’s name is the word “merry”, which means full of cheerfulness and joyous in disposition. That was Merrilynn. Through a life of unnumbered hopes dashed, including a cancer that wouldn’t quit, she never lost her merry heart. And though a body becomes useless and eventually loses to death, because of what we read in Scripture, death can be instantly followed by new life in Christ that will last throughout eternity.

”Just as everyone dies because we all belong to Adam, everyone who belongs to Christ will be given new life.” (1 Corinthians 15:22)