it was the flight home.

It was the flight home. Usually the flight home means the trip is over. You did what you went to do. You were successful and learned and grew. And now it's the flight home and time to reflect.

It was the flight home. Let me tell you. Plane rides put. me. to. sleep. I am O-U-T before take-off and wake up just as I am supposed to walk off the plane.

It was the flight home. The gentleman who sat next to me looked nice. I could say something before the normal instantaneous sleep overcomes me. Or I could not say anything at all.

It was the flight home. We did not stop talking the entire time.

We talked of what I was doing in a snowy land (as opposed to a warm beach) for spring break.

We talked of international students and communication.

We talked of how he was "retired" but could never stop working.

We talked of religion. We talked of faith.

We talked of what my parents do for a living, and what he does for a living.

We talked of aging and wisdom in having friends of all ages.

It was the flight home. And he asked me how one could even start doing missions and what that looked like. He said I probably knew more than he did about that. And he was sixty-five. I told him I didn't know much, but I told him what I do know:

And I told him that your mission is wherever you are.

It was the flight home. And it was the second plane. I was tired. I had not slept one wink. And another gentleman whom I did not know sat next to me.

It was the flight home. Why would I talk to him if I was just going to fall asleep? Would anything I said even be coherent?

It was the flight home. He began the conversation.

We talked of what I was doing in a snowy land (as opposed to a warm beach) for spring break.

We talked of religion. We talked of faith.

We talked of what my parents do for a living, and what he does for a living.

He asked questions. I answered them. (Sometimes with another question.)

He apologized for asking "devil's advocate" questions.

And I told him that it is better to ask questions than not think about things at all.

It was the flight home. I ended up sleeping a little bit after some of our conversation. He said he just looked over after a few quiet minutes and I was out. (But it was a good point in the conversation to move on anyways.)

It was the flight home. He placed a twenty dollar bill in my hand as we walked off the plane. "For your trip."

"You don't need to give me your money, it's fine."

"No, really, I know it's not much, but take it."

He wasn't even a believer, but after all that talk of missions and what that means, he wanted to support me on my trip to share the gospel in another country later this summer.

And it was just the flight home. The trip was over. But you see, reaching out to people and having conversations and sharing the gospel isn't a trip. It's a lifestyle. Your mission is wherever you are. It starts with asking questions.