With arms laden with two notebooks, my Bible, and the change of clothes I took to Asheville today, I slammed the passenger car door behind me.  As I pressed the remote of my sister’s car and heard the beeping of the locking mechanism, three darkened figures yelled to me from the second floor balcony of the hotel that faced the parking lot.

“Shaaayynaa!!!” 

Caught of guard, I waved hello back and shouted that I’d be up soon.  Fleetingly, I entertained the thought of my poor sister’s car getting vandalized and then, lamented not having chosen a less conspicuous parking space.

A few minutes later, I stopped on the second floor to talk to the kids about living in Washington, DC and running the half marathon (something I mentioned in last night’s sermon).  Inside the lobby, before I could make it to the elevator, four more teens wanted to know who I was backing in tonight’s NBA game, which was playing on a TV set in front of them.  (Every night, I start the meetings by answering their questions--personal or otherwise.  Last night, I answered someone’s question about who I was supporting in the night's game...Pistons over Celtics.)

I always wondered why my editors refused to stay at the host hotel at conferences.  Very quickly, however, I learned that when you do, it takes approximately two hours to navigate your way from meetings to your hotel room.  And, almost always, you have to be looking magazine quality when doing so:

 I don't know if I'd call this "magazine quality," per se, but in comparison to the pictures below, it's a whole lot better.  I snapped this in my room just before I left to speak yesterday afternoon.  Here in the woods, we still have showers and electricity.  THANKFULLY.

Yesterday, I bravely ran/walked the 5.6 miles around the lake (the front desk said the trail was 2.8 miles and I did it twice).  Then, I fearfully returned to my hotel room looking like this:

 I didn't bother to crop this picture better, so the hot mess factor would be minimized.  Umm...you're welcome.

Those little black things you see would most certainly not be freckles.  Those are BUGS that got stuck to me as I ran around the lake.  How I actually endured this occurrence is beyond me...just looking at this picture makes me cringe.

In all seriousness, however, I really do love my job and I relish the moments sitting in the lobby arguing about who’s going to win game four, or on the boardwalk like last night.  In the darkness, one of the girls who attended the meeting stopped me to ask about witnessing to atheist friends.  I prayed with her and before raising her head, there was a noticeable pause.  It was the kind of pause that happens when you know you've touched someone in such a profound way that they actually have to stand still, lest they disrupt the moment with their tears.    

It’s those times when kids really get to know you and hopefully, Jesus through you.  Moments on the boardwalk, on the balcony, and in the lobby are the reason I put up with the ridiculous pay, sometimes questionable accommodations, and political garbage.  Ultimately, it’s about reaching them—and nothing else.

*I, by no means, intend to make fun of home-schoolers.  I'm just illustrating the limit of my fame and sphere of influence, lest you actually think that people recognize me on the street or something.  I assure you, they don't.