“Cut your hair short, and then walk through an airport, so you can dream of destinations… all the while you’re singing good vibrations.”
I cut my hair short(er, than its normal really long.)
I dreamed of my destination.
I eventually sang (or hummed quietly) good vibrations.
The only inconsistency may be found within this line:
I walked through an airport.
Walked is beyond an understatement. 
Would you like to hear a story?  Excuse me, would you like to read a story? I suppose you could give me a ring and have me read the story to you, but I believe that would involve too many steps, so I hope your reading glasses are conveniently sitting near to your computer/smart phone.
Today. June the Fifth. The first day of my internship with the Got Your Back Movement. The first time to navigate and travel all by my lonesome.
The day had gone swimmingly, Sunday school in the morning and a combination of Smallville and packing in the afternoon.  My mom was kind enough to drive me to the airport, in which we walked into quite confidently until the daunting line presented itself before us.  Being pressed for time due to the unhappy passenger passionately exclaiming her discontent to the patient employee, I had made my way swiftly through security, fully trusting that time was on my side.  That only lasted but two seconds; all of a sudden I hear my name ringing through the intercom.
When your name comes through an intercom in an airport, you know the situation is not one you will necessarily look forward to.
In a sense of urgency, I run to the nearest person donning a uniform.  I followed this employee’s directions and found myself in the completely wrong section of the airport.  As I make this discovery, I hear my name called once more.  Oh no.  I begin to bolt.
As I am running like girly-girl, I see the employee who had previously given me directions hurdling my way to tell me that he had told me incorrectly, and that I needed to be on the complete opposite side of the airport.  Deep breath.
I take off running, all the while carrying a sleeping bag, my camera bag, my laptop and two sweatshirts tied around my waist, mom-style.  After a bit of ridiculous stampeding through the airport, I meet my half-way point.  At this moment, I realized that God did not put me on this planet to run.  Then I hear my name over the intercom one last time.
With the “three strikes your out” scenario, I was out of luck.  Out of breath, I push forward and call my mom.  
For this next dramatic scene please take into account the circumstance: leaving home and my family for the entire summer for the first time ever.
My mom answers, and I lose it.  I continue to run through the airport, bags swinging, phone to my ear and tears rolling down my face.  Finally, the end is in sight.  I see my gate.  As if from a scene found in the movies, I am running toward my goal, relief is almost in grasp, but as I cross the finish line I am greeted with,
“I am sorry, but the plane is closed.  You’ll have to get another flight.”
Cue Niagara Falls. Becoming incredibly vulnerable, I pour myself into this man who is standing behind the desk.  Begging, sobbing, more begging and more hysterical sobbing.  
(This is where my prince charming comes to rescue me, and by prince charming I mean this hero of a man standing behind the desk.)
With a sudden jolt of energy, this man commands that his fellow employee run to the captain and plead my case.  Thank the Lord for this sympathetic man.  Within moments, I found myself running down the connecting hallway, down a flight of stairs, outside, on the ground, running up the stairs into the plane and then meeting the other gajillion people who are already seated.
However embarrassing it was to be covered in sweat and tears, shaking, clumsy and just in every sense of the word “a mess” in front of these fine citizens, an overwhelming sense of joy and thankfulness filled my entire body as I sat down to read the latest issue of Sky Mall.
Is that the end? Is that it? Did she make it? What about her mom?
That is most certainly not the end, but the end for tonight.  I have a whole summer of adventures ahead of me.
That is most certainly not it, my connecting flight ended up being delayed, but I had fantastic conversation with my fellow delayed buddies.
Yes, I did make it.  Hallelujah.
And my mom is just fine, she was slightly traumatized after receiving a phone call from her hysteric eldest daughter as she was running through an airport, but in the end she simply laughed at my situation.  Which is what I encourage you to do.

“Cut your hair short, and then walk through an airport, so you can dream of destinations… all the while you’re singing good vibrations.”

I cut my hair short(er, than its normal really long.)

I dreamed of my destination.

I eventually sang (or hummed quietly) good vibrations.

The only inconsistency may be found within this line:

I walked through an airport.

Walked is beyond an understatement. 

Would you like to hear a story?  Excuse me, would you like to read a story? I suppose you could give me a ring and have me read the story to you, but I believe that would involve too many steps, so I hope your reading glasses are conveniently sitting near to your computer/smart phone.

Today. June the Fifth. The first day of my internship with the Got Your Back Movement. The first time to navigate and travel all by my lonesome.

The day had gone swimmingly, Sunday school in the morning and a combination of Smallville and packing in the afternoon.  My mom was kind enough to drive me to the airport, in which we walked into quite confidently until the daunting line presented itself before us.  Being pressed for time due to the unhappy passenger passionately exclaiming her discontent to the patient employee, I had made my way swiftly through security, fully trusting that time was on my side.  That only lasted but two seconds; all of a sudden I hear my name ringing through the intercom.

When your name comes through an intercom in an airport, you know the situation is not one you will necessarily look forward to.

In a sense of urgency, I run to the nearest person donning a uniform.  I followed this employee’s directions and found myself in the completely wrong section of the airport.  As I make this discovery, I hear my name called once more.  Oh no.  I begin to bolt.

As I am running like girly-girl, I see the employee who had previously given me directions hurdling my way to tell me that he had told me incorrectly, and that I needed to be on the complete opposite side of the airport.  Deep breath.

I take off running, all the while carrying a sleeping bag, my camera bag, my laptop and two sweatshirts tied around my waist, mom-style.  After a bit of ridiculous stampeding through the airport, I meet my half-way point.  At this moment, I realized that God did not put me on this planet to run.  Then I hear my name over the intercom one last time.

With the “three strikes your out” scenario, I was out of luck.  Out of breath, I push forward and call my mom. 

For this next dramatic scene please take into account the circumstance: leaving home and my family for the entire summer for the first time ever.

My mom answers, and I lose it.  I continue to run through the airport, bags swinging, phone to my ear and tears rolling down my face.  Finally, the end is in sight.  I see my gate.  As if from a scene found in the movies, I am running toward my goal, relief is almost in grasp, but as I cross the finish line I am greeted with,

“I am sorry, but the plane is closed.  You’ll have to get another flight.”

Cue Niagara Falls. Becoming incredibly vulnerable, I pour myself into this man who is standing behind the desk.  Begging, sobbing, more begging and more hysterical sobbing. 

(This is where my prince charming comes to rescue me, and by prince charming I mean this hero of a man standing behind the desk.)

With a sudden jolt of energy, this man commands that his fellow employee run to the captain and plead my case.  Thank the Lord for this sympathetic man.  Within moments, I found myself running down the connecting hallway, down a flight of stairs, outside, on the ground, running up the stairs into the plane and then meeting the other gajillion people who are already seated.

However embarrassing it was to be covered in sweat and tears, shaking, clumsy and just in every sense of the word “a mess” in front of these fine citizens, an overwhelming sense of joy and thankfulness filled my entire body as I sat down to read the latest issue of Sky Mall.

Is that the end? Is that it? Did she make it? What about her mom?

That is most certainly not the end, but the end for tonight.  I have a whole summer of adventures ahead of me.

That is most certainly not it, my connecting flight ended up being delayed, but I had fantastic conversation with my fellow delayed buddies.

Yes, I did make it.  Hallelujah.

And my mom is just fine, she was slightly traumatized after receiving a phone call from her hysteric eldest daughter as she was running through an airport, but in the end she simply laughed at my situation.  Which is what I encourage you to do.

“Cut your hair short, and then walk through an airport, so you can dream of destinations… all the while you’re singing good vibrations.”
I cut my hair short(er, than its normal really long.)
I dreamed of my destination.
I eventually sang (or hummed quietly) good vibrations.
The only inconsistency may be found within this line:
I walked through an airport.
Walked is beyond an understatement. 
Would you like to hear a story?  Excuse me, would you like to read a story? I suppose you could give me a ring and have me read the story to you, but I believe that would involve too many steps, so I hope your reading glasses are conveniently sitting near to your computer/smart phone.
Today. June the Fifth. The first day of my internship with the Got Your Back Movement. The first time to navigate and travel all by my lonesome.
The day had gone swimmingly, Sunday school in the morning and a combination of Smallville and packing in the afternoon.  My mom was kind enough to drive me to the airport, in which we walked into quite confidently until the daunting line presented itself before us.  Being pressed for time due to the unhappy passenger passionately exclaiming her discontent to the patient employee, I had made my way swiftly through security, fully trusting that time was on my side.  That only lasted but two seconds; all of a sudden I hear my name ringing through the intercom.
When your name comes through an intercom in an airport, you know the situation is not one you will necessarily look forward to.
In a sense of urgency, I run to the nearest person donning a uniform.  I followed this employee’s directions and found myself in the completely wrong section of the airport.  As I make this discovery, I hear my name called once more.  Oh no.  I begin to bolt.
As I am running like girly-girl, I see the employee who had previously given me directions hurdling my way to tell me that he had told me incorrectly, and that I needed to be on the complete opposite side of the airport.  Deep breath.
I take off running, all the while carrying a sleeping bag, my camera bag, my laptop and two sweatshirts tied around my waist, mom-style.  After a bit of ridiculous stampeding through the airport, I meet my half-way point.  At this moment, I realized that God did not put me on this planet to run.  Then I hear my name over the intercom one last time.
With the “three strikes your out” scenario, I was out of luck.  Out of breath, I push forward and call my mom.  
For this next dramatic scene please take into account the circumstance: leaving home and my family for the entire summer for the first time ever.
My mom answers, and I lose it.  I continue to run through the airport, bags swinging, phone to my ear and tears rolling down my face.  Finally, the end is in sight.  I see my gate.  As if from a scene found in the movies, I am running toward my goal, relief is almost in grasp, but as I cross the finish line I am greeted with,
“I am sorry, but the plane is closed.  You’ll have to get another flight.”
Cue Niagara Falls. Becoming incredibly vulnerable, I pour myself into this man who is standing behind the desk.  Begging, sobbing, more begging and more hysterical sobbing.  
(This is where my prince charming comes to rescue me, and by prince charming I mean this hero of a man standing behind the desk.)
With a sudden jolt of energy, this man commands that his fellow employee run to the captain and plead my case.  Thank the Lord for this sympathetic man.  Within moments, I found myself running down the connecting hallway, down a flight of stairs, outside, on the ground, running up the stairs into the plane and then meeting the other gajillion people who are already seated.
However embarrassing it was to be covered in sweat and tears, shaking, clumsy and just in every sense of the word “a mess” in front of these fine citizens, an overwhelming sense of joy and thankfulness filled my entire body as I sat down to read the latest issue of Sky Mall.
Is that the end? Is that it? Did she make it? What about her mom?
That is most certainly not the end, but the end for tonight.  I have a whole summer of adventures ahead of me.
That is most certainly not it, my connecting flight ended up being delayed, but I had fantastic conversation with my fellow delayed buddies.
Yes, I did make it.  Hallelujah.
And my mom is just fine, she was slightly traumatized after receiving a phone call from her hysteric eldest daughter as she was running through an airport, but in the end she simply laughed at my situation.  Which is what I encourage you to do.

“Cut your hair short, and then walk through an airport, so you can dream of destinations… all the while you’re singing good vibrations.”

I cut my hair short(er, than its normal really long.)

I dreamed of my destination.

I eventually sang (or hummed quietly) good vibrations.

The only inconsistency may be found within this line:

I walked through an airport.

Walked is beyond an understatement. 

Would you like to hear a story?  Excuse me, would you like to read a story? I suppose you could give me a ring and have me read the story to you, but I believe that would involve too many steps, so I hope your reading glasses are conveniently sitting near to your computer/smart phone.

Today. June the Fifth. The first day of my internship with the Got Your Back Movement. The first time to navigate and travel all by my lonesome.

The day had gone swimmingly, Sunday school in the morning and a combination of Smallville and packing in the afternoon.  My mom was kind enough to drive me to the airport, in which we walked into quite confidently until the daunting line presented itself before us.  Being pressed for time due to the unhappy passenger passionately exclaiming her discontent to the patient employee, I had made my way swiftly through security, fully trusting that time was on my side.  That only lasted but two seconds; all of a sudden I hear my name ringing through the intercom.

When your name comes through an intercom in an airport, you know the situation is not one you will necessarily look forward to.

In a sense of urgency, I run to the nearest person donning a uniform.  I followed this employee’s directions and found myself in the completely wrong section of the airport.  As I make this discovery, I hear my name called once more.  Oh no.  I begin to bolt.

As I am running like girly-girl, I see the employee who had previously given me directions hurdling my way to tell me that he had told me incorrectly, and that I needed to be on the complete opposite side of the airport.  Deep breath.

I take off running, all the while carrying a sleeping bag, my camera bag, my laptop and two sweatshirts tied around my waist, mom-style.  After a bit of ridiculous stampeding through the airport, I meet my half-way point.  At this moment, I realized that God did not put me on this planet to run.  Then I hear my name over the intercom one last time.

With the “three strikes your out” scenario, I was out of luck.  Out of breath, I push forward and call my mom. 

For this next dramatic scene please take into account the circumstance: leaving home and my family for the entire summer for the first time ever.

My mom answers, and I lose it.  I continue to run through the airport, bags swinging, phone to my ear and tears rolling down my face.  Finally, the end is in sight.  I see my gate.  As if from a scene found in the movies, I am running toward my goal, relief is almost in grasp, but as I cross the finish line I am greeted with,

“I am sorry, but the plane is closed.  You’ll have to get another flight.”

Cue Niagara Falls. Becoming incredibly vulnerable, I pour myself into this man who is standing behind the desk.  Begging, sobbing, more begging and more hysterical sobbing. 

(This is where my prince charming comes to rescue me, and by prince charming I mean this hero of a man standing behind the desk.)

With a sudden jolt of energy, this man commands that his fellow employee run to the captain and plead my case.  Thank the Lord for this sympathetic man.  Within moments, I found myself running down the connecting hallway, down a flight of stairs, outside, on the ground, running up the stairs into the plane and then meeting the other gajillion people who are already seated.

However embarrassing it was to be covered in sweat and tears, shaking, clumsy and just in every sense of the word “a mess” in front of these fine citizens, an overwhelming sense of joy and thankfulness filled my entire body as I sat down to read the latest issue of Sky Mall.

Is that the end? Is that it? Did she make it? What about her mom?

That is most certainly not the end, but the end for tonight.  I have a whole summer of adventures ahead of me.

That is most certainly not it, my connecting flight ended up being delayed, but I had fantastic conversation with my fellow delayed buddies.

Yes, I did make it.  Hallelujah.

And my mom is just fine, she was slightly traumatized after receiving a phone call from her hysteric eldest daughter as she was running through an airport, but in the end she simply laughed at my situation.  Which is what I encourage you to do.

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About:

Hi. I'm Elyse.
I love God, and I love people.
I work terribly hard, and I am passionate about quite a few things.
A few of those include, but are not limited to: my faith, my family and serving others.

Professionaly, I talk to/inform/encourage people. On occasion what I do involves making pretty things, reading fantastic literature, discovering passions and creating insanely thorough media/marketing/communication plans.

Personally, I practice dreaming, adventuring, theatre, photography, storytelling and smiling. I smile a bunch.

Hi.

*Author of smalltownadventure.blogspot.com

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