the fort

I built a fort the other night.

I was flying home from visiting my family in South Carolina (of which is was 70 degrees while I was there, so yes, it was amazing. I sailed... AHOY!), and on my flight from Philadelphia to Chicago, I built a fort right there in seat 22F.

When I got settled in what would be my new address for the next few hours, I unloaded my book-bag with all that I would need for the flight home...

ipod... check.

notepad (no lines)... check.

2 sharpies (one fat, one little)... check.

one blue clicky pen... check.

journal (with lines)... check.

my favorite navy blue sweater... check.

I was set.

Then my neighbor moved in... 22E.

His name was Adam. I had him pegged as being from Boston.

He was loud, proud, and whether it be because he couldn't, or just didn't want to, he couldn't/didn't pronounce his R's. He'd ask for "wawta," instead of "water."

He introduced himself to both myself and 22D (although she didn't speak much English, so the intros didn't go too far). She just smiled and nodded her head... a universal way of communicating "I have no idea what you are saying!"

Adam proceeded to tell both her and I that if he fell asleep and happened to start snoring, we should feel free to punch him in the arm. He, too, said he would feel free to do the same to us if we started snoring.

22D smiled and nodded.

She had no clue what he just said.

I laughed to myself while he enjoys thinking that I am laughing at him (or with him, I don't know), and I finally ask him...

"so... where are you from?"

"Well, originally fram Philadelphia, but now I live in Chicaago."

Dang it, I thought to myself, so close! Or was I? I don't know... I failed geography.

(OK, I didn't fail, but it sounded funnier in my head.)

He asked if I was from "Chicaago," at which point I should have said yes and made up some amazing story about being the governor's daughter, worried if daddy was still going to have his job when I got back to town... but... I was too tired, so I decided to be honest.

And of course, in being honest, he wanted to know what in the world would posses me to move from Pawleys Island, SC to Naperville, IL.

At this point I should have told him this amazing story of change and transformation... leaving the home that I knew to seek recovery and restoration from a broken past and poor choices, ultimately leading to healing and victory in Jesus Christ!

But I was too tired, so I decided to lie....

"just gettin' out of the south," I said with my southern draw and smiled (as us southern girls have been taught to do no matter what the situation).

I wanted to puke at the thought of being so fake, but considering the fact that I am a recovering bulimic, I figured that was a bad idea.

Satisfied with my answer, he tells me I picked a great city to come to, smiles, and pulls out a book to read.

Thank God! He's a reader!



As he reads, I begin to set up camp. I feel pretty privileged because I have the only spot in our row with a view (even though we all paid the same price). It's amazing what windows can do to brighten up a place.

I take my shoes off, pull my knees up toward my face, and stick my sock covered feet in the back of the chair in front of me (the pouch thing that holds the magazines).

I then take my favorite navy blue sweater and put one end over my knees, and the other end over my head, forming a tent like atmosphere (much like many of you may have done with bedsheets and chairs when you were little).

(We didn't have cable growing up, so we had to be inventive. We made a lot of forts out of bedsheets and chairs... especially when it rained.)

I hit play on my ipod, and there in my little fort, I invited a friend to come in...

"Lord, will you be here with me? I need to be held. Will you hold me?"

We talked about the year (quietly so as not to disturb the neighbors), and I cried at the thought of it being over. Not out of sadness, but out of thankfulness.

"Lord, this year has been so hard! I am so tired... I can't keep up! If you have more ahead for me, I'm going to need some energy for the ride. I'm going to need you, still."

Eventually the music drowned out our conversation and I just sat, and listened.

After a while I fell asleep, only to be awoken by the refreshment cart, which in my opinion is the best way to be woken up... "would you like a snack?"

I came out from under my fort and she gave me the price list.

Price list?


After realizing I had to pay to get my snack and my ginger-ale, I realized I no longer wanted either. I suddenly felt passionate about the economy, and the need to do something about it... except not really.

I glanced at my neighbor, who at this point was passed out (thank God), took a quick glimpse at the dark sky out of my window, and I set my fort back up.


I love flying at night, I thought to myself.

If you're going to do nothing, or chill inside and just relax, do it at night. I always get antsy when I fly during the day. I feel like I should be doing something instead of just sitting around.

As we approached Chicago I could see the city lights down below, and they were beautiful.

I tore down my fort and packed everything up... at which point I felt so exposed and out in the open... I was safe in my fort. I wanted to stay there and hide from 2009. But such is life when mom takes the bedsheets off the chairs, and reality hovers above as you see your man-made safety zone being torn down sheet by sheet.

We (my siblings and I) built some amazing forts in our living room growing up. We even had a "fort neighborhood" where we would build three bedroom forts next to each other and take turns vising each other.

I remember wanting to keep them set up forever... but the reality is... eventually company is coming over, or just for no reason at all, momma wants the living room clean!

Those babies are coming down!

With all the creativity and imagination involved in building a fort, it requires quite an investment of your time and energy... so to not only see it being torn down, but to take part in tearing it down... it's kind of hard... and sad.



Forts are built to serve as a place for protection and defense... against attacks, or criticisms. Forts to me are what nests are to birds, or what therapists like to call "a safe place."

As when I was little, when I tore my fort down the other night in 22F, I felt a sense of sadness... a sense of uncertainty. I was uncertain as to what lay ahead (or around) me that I may have to face next... without the safety and protection of having somewhere to hide... without my fort.

And sitting here now, all I have to say to 2009, with all due respect, is bring it on!

(And no, not in a cheesy Kristen Dunst cheerleader type of way.)

I'm saying that I don't need bedsheets and chairs, I don't need my favorite navy blue sweater, and I don't need seat 22F.

Life is meant to be lived...

it is not meant to hide from what you may be afraid of, or who may hurt you.

To live is to feel the fear and do it anyway. To live is to feel the hurt, and love them anyway.

To live is to enjoy what comforts your fort may bring you, but to be strong and courageous when the time comes to tear it down... and leave your hiding place behind.

We weren't meant to hide forever.




The world is waiting...


make your move.