God Is Here

God is here

Three plane fights into the darkness, flying over the land that I could no longer see I landed once more in my home airport of Des Moines IA at 12:30 am on that cold Friday morning.  My exhaustion pushed deep into the tissues of my heart I was ready to be home.  All I needed now was to go the baggage carousel and pick up my bag.  How sweet it was to watch the bags start their march in and out of the people gathered with me that evening. 

I watched with fear and trembling for my bag, looking over each one as it came through the opening in the wall knowing that I surely knew what my bag looked like.  I had used this bag on my travels for the last 4 years.  I had made 17 trips to 12 different states.  I had felt every zipper on each of its openings and had noticed each of its flaws and scars from our journeys together and caused a few of them due to my need for extra stuff that only sort of fit with some highly misplaced nudging.  I was one with my baggage. 

I looked at each one and starred deep into its ridges with the hope that it would be mine and we could reunite and head home together.  On many occasions I would push my way through the crowd to reach for my bag only to realize that it was not mine and apologize for my passionate pushing.  Stepping back I would look over the winding luggage again hoping to spot my bag from afar.  Several times I was sure I saw it and even reached out and turned the bag over only to not find my name on its back cover.   I then started to see or hope that I saw my bag in each of the now remaining abandoned bags being lifted off the moving belt to be stored in the back to await the time when their owners would come and claim them.

In that moment I had to admit that I was not seeing my baggage.  I knew then that I was going to have to stand in the line at the desk for lost luggage.  Being the optimist I am I said to myself, “Hey, I don’t really need my shaver, medicine, toothbrush, or keys to my house.”  I could make do, I could adapt as I often do and besides it was only 1:15 in the morning now.  It was still early and I still had 7 hours before I needed to get back up to take my son to school.  So I stood in line for help to find my bag.

Nearly 13 minutes ticked by as I waited for help, not that I was now counting the minutes and becoming less and less optimistic.  The attendant took my luggage claim tag and put the numbers into the all knowing computer and what should it say… well it did not say anything but the attendant said, “Its saying that your bag was check on to this plane.  Are you sure its not one of those bags I just took off the belt?” 

So with great embarrassment I walked over to the abandoned bags in my exhausted state and sure enough there with the other 14 black bags was my traveling companion I knew I knew so well.  Relieved and glad for the reunion I grasped it with all my strength and headed out the door to my car. 

It was now 1:37 according to the clock in my car but at least I was now on my way out of the parking garage heading home.  As I headed to the exit ramp I noticed a frail old man pushing his even more frail wife in a wheel chair up and down the parking isles obviously looking for their car.  The 8 degree wind was blowing the snow through their coats as they walked and even in my exhausted state I could not just pretend that I had not scene them or believe that someone else would surely help them or force myself to accept that this was not my problem.  No, all I could hear is that “God is here!”  This one I could not ignore. 

I pulled up alongside them and asked if I could help.  In short, by the time I did what I could for them it was now 2:15 and I was finally headed home with my well-known luggage that I could not recognize and had not noticed it even though it was their in front of me. 

Is it worth the trouble? The Fight?

The Big Sneeze

A Dream

Hugging a Board Game!

I was asked recently to write about why camp was so important to ME.  What I came up with was a story about how I ended up hugging a wooded box!  Here is that story!

Sometimes when memories come flooding back to me of camp at the Christian Conference Center I shrink to a shorter, thinner, less complicated young teenager who was beginning to understand a little more about God and who I was as a human being.  It is normally the mundane things that trigger these memories – A piece of blackened wood, a long lost trail, a view of an open field.  I have, since those teenage years, counseled at several other church camps across this country but none have triggered the feeling of calm and focus that occurs during these retro-moments of life. 

However, I have never felt the tug to hug an inanimate object like I did during a Monday cleaning session in October.  Seven years had gone by and never once did I attempt to turn over what looked to be a box- step designed to help people reach a higher shelf in the “paper closet.”  Out it came, a 2 by 4 foot box made of plywood.  It was placed on one of our round dining tables, dirt and cobwebs intact.  When my eyes first caught a glimpse of this game I immediately reverted back to a time when I stood before it, pulled the string and let the spindle like device bounce from wall to wall randomly seeking a place to stop moving. 

In that moment, I fell to my knees and I reached out and gave it hug.  A hug – That’s right, Bill Spangler-Dunning, known to be frugal with hugs, hugged an inanimate object.  On my knees with cobwebs now in my hair I found myself reflecting on all the things that have made me who I am today.  I thought of counselors who had given me advice or simply believed in me enough to tell me I was destined to do something wonderful with my life.  I relived in my mind full campfires in which directors told stories of their lives and how if they could get me to remember only one thing it was that God Loves You!  I pictured again the very moment that I felt God give me a plan for my life and it occurred during my 8^th grade year at Chi Rho Camp.  I remembered friends whom I wish even to this day that I could see again. 

What does camp mean to me?  It means my whole life!  I have done and will do many more things in my life time but Camp at the Christian Conference Center will continue to be at the center and the heart of all of them.