The Itinerary Says They're Out

The itinerary says they've left Cuba, but I've not heard from them officially. I probably won't until about after 8pm when they arrive in Atlanta.

This silence is nothing new. Years ago I would go weeks without hearing from Kevin. Weeks. In some ways the not knowing is good. I can't worry or fret about some equipment glitch, there's nothing I could do if one of them were sick (except pray), and changes in the schedule or video plan might make me crazy knowing that they "need" to shoot specific things for a certain project. However, these changes can only make me crazy if I know about them. If I don't...we can victory dance all we want because we don't know any differently! Bottom line: Ignorance can sometimes (but not always) be bliss.

And it's not bad for them either. They can concentrate on what is before them and not have to worry about "this or that" at home...because you know there is always a "this" or a "that" stirring stuff up.

Besides, I knew they could find me with the team's handy-dandy satellite phone if something went horribly awry...but for the most part no news was good news indeed.

I have always tried to maintain this belief...although it hasn't been easy. Even from the first trip Kevin took, things happened to prevent such non-knowledge nirvana. I remember being awaken one morning at the unholy hour of 4am. This was nearly a week after Kevin left to go to Kenya in August of 1986 to meet up with a missionary recruiter and video his travels.

As you are well aware, if the phone rings before 9, (OK maybe 8) it is almost always universally bad. And the badness of the news increases exponentially with every hour earlier. I'm not exaggerating here...it's a law.

So a 4AM call meant certain catastrophe. And when your husband's out of the country and the phone rings at such an hour your mind (at least my mind) immediately thinks: "something's happened to Kevin and he's coming home in a body bag."

I pick of the phone, suddenly wild-eyed awake and here's the conversation.

Kevin: Hello? Marcy? Hey, I just want you to know that I'm OK.

Marcy: This must mean that at some point you weren't OK.

Kevin: Well, I had some trouble in Saudi Arabia...

Marcy: Kevin, you weren't going to Saudi Arabia.

Kevin: I know...but the plane I was on went to Saudi Arabia because I missed my flight on the plane to Kenya. And I ended up being detained in Saudi for day or so.

Marcy: I'm just curious, especially since you're OK...what does "detained a day or so" actually mean?

Kevin: I can't talk long...but I was interrogated and locked in a little room. I thought they wouldn't get me to my plane but I climbed the wall and stuck my head over it and 2 young armed guards saw me (they must have been 15 and had uzi's!) and thought is was so funny that they found out when my plane was leaving and took me to it. They older guy was really crabby and would only look at me in a mirror but one of the kids spoke English and said he wanted to make movies some day.

Marcy: There's more to this, isn't there?

Kevin: Yeah, but I have to go. They gave me my camera back. And I have my passport again.

Marcy: OK...pause...sigh...get lots of good footage.

Kevin: I love you.

Marcy: Yeah, right. That's why you call and scare the begeebies out of me at god-awful thirty in the morning! And then you tell me only half the story and I don't even know if you have all your limbs or not or are in the hospital and you're not going to make it but you're acting brave so I won't won't worry and you're really trying to say goodbye or WHATEVER!*

click

*I didn't really say that last part. I said, "I love you, too." But I thought it. And I had to wait several weeks until I heard the rest of the story. In the meantime I was given Frank Peretti's "This Present Darkness" to read, which didn't help my already amped emotions at all.

Kevin made it home with lots of stories and some really good footage and we began a journey that has us currently in Louisville, Kentucky trying to tell stories using media that draw people to Jesus or encourage them in their walk with Him. And my daughter wants to follow in her dad's footprints.

And, as far as I know, they're on their way home.

I couldn't be happier.

~m