In addition to taking killer photos, being pretty brilliant at filming, having a knack for video editing, and designing kick-a$$ print items - my boy can turn a phrase.
He arrived in Nepal about twelve hours ago. After deciding to courier his second bag via a freight company from Heathrow (for $320, instead of the $750 that Cathay Pacific was going to charge) (which is a whole lot more than the $60 British Airways charged for a second checked bag) to Kathmandu, he found out at the airport that Cathay Pacific lost the bag that he did check with them.
Of course they did.
This is just that type of trip for Clint.
He is on an adventure x 1000.
Oh the stories he'll be able to tell his grandchildren.
(Not that lost luggage is a story worthy of being passed down through the generations, but these things can be embellished with a little creativity.)
When he and I chatted first thing this morning (my time) (middle of the night, tomorrow, his time) he was understandably choked. All he had with him was his camera. His couriered bag would not be arriving for a few days. And his checked bag was lost.
I, of course, was not panicked. He's alive. Not in jail. And he's exactly where he's supposed to be. Eventually his stuff will catch up with him. And he can buy clothes. It's just money. And he can always earn more.
Sometime between our morning conversation and the afternoon posting of his facebook status, his chokedness slipped away. I'm thinking that it happened while he was writing. Interesting how that works.
And when I read his post and the comments underneath it, I just sat there, smiling. My boy? Can assemble words. I couldn't be prouder:
From Clint's timeline:
Facebook Friend asked Clint if during his experiences with airports he had a chance to say, "this might as well happen ..."
Clint's response: not when my second bag was going to cost $700, not when security took 4 hours, not when the flight to Hong Kong was delayed an hour so I had to sprint through three terminals...
It was when I had finished Entebbe > Heathrow > Hong Kong > Dhaka > Kathmandu, when I had finished 38 hours of constant transit, when I had done the VISA forms, the immigration forms, the booking forms, when I was 10 seconds and 50 feet from the end of the most gawdawful time in transit in my life, when all I wanted was to shower and change clothes: that is when they informed me that they had lost my bag.
And you know, when I looked into those beady bloodshot eyes of Hasaad, the illiterate baggage handler with a weird tooth: that is when I truly achieved transcendence. In the most tender of caresses, I brought my trembling hand forward and gently stroked his perspiring, unshaven face. His eyes grew wide; he knew. We were connected on the most primal level. My hand moved around to his neck and drew him forward. I swiftly brought us into an embrace in the middle of the baggage claim like it was prom night and nobody mattered but us, the conveyors endlessly humming like a superhighway for inanimate objects. I brought my lips close to his warty ear, felt his stomach muscles contract as he took a ragged, quick breath in shocked awe, and whispered tenderly to him in the voice of a million cherubim: "This Might As Well Happen."
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Three things I'm thankful for:
1. Facebook. I love how it connects the world. Or at least the way it connects the people I love in my world.
2. My family. Had supper tonight with my kids. And the girls. And we sat around afterwards for, like, many minutes, (maybe even an hour or two) and watched Drew and Max laugh. I love my people.
3. Late night conversation with Mandi. Like, really late. And we prayed. I feel so privileged.
Shalom,
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