http://www.delorenzoflyer.com/index.htmldelorenzoflyerenCopyright 2008 Mike Delorenzo2009-06-30T12:25:31+03:00 hourly 1 2000-01-01T12:00+00:00 Tue, 30 Jun 2009 12:41:47 +0300delorenzoflyer/GdrZhttp://feedburner.google.comhome2009-06-30T12:25:31+03:00http://www.delorenzoflyer.com/index.html#unique-entry-id-60http://www.delorenzoflyer.com/index.html#unique-entry-id-60Oshkosh in July. We even produced a new video which will be viewable on AIM AIR's website by the end of July. The summer months flew past way to quickly.

This week, I was simultaneously mailing off DVDs in FedEx envelopes while packing my bags for a huge trip into central Africa. I'll leave today for Uganda, and then spend the next 2 weeks flying AIM leadership around Sudan, C.A.R., Congo, and Chad. I have never been to Chad before, so that should be interesting. My role on the trip is, of course, as a crew-member flying the plane. But I'll also be working on a media project in between. So my bags are a strange mixture of survival gear, pilot gizmos, and cool cameras. In fact, just looking at them now, I'm reminded of what a great job I have. The hardest part, as always, is leaving Renee and the kids. I won't see them for 16 days, and that's unusually long for an AIM AIR safari. So you can think to pray for them while I'm away. And also pray for this trip. We are traversing four countries at war.

And rest assured I'll have a couple of cool stories to tell once I get back.]]>home2009-05-16T19:24:42+03:00http://www.delorenzoflyer.com/index.html#unique-entry-id-59http://www.delorenzoflyer.com/index.html#unique-entry-id-59
I found Renee just the other day sitting on the floor in front of the long mirror in our bedroom. She had a curling iron in her hand, an unruly bloom of frizzy auburn hair on her head, and an adorable look of defeat on her face. I guess Renee's always been at the mercy of a difficult head of hair, and the rainy days we've been having here in Nairobi haven't helped.

But as we went to church last Sunday, I thought she looked nice. The hair, ironed into submission, lay neat and wavy down to her shoulders. It was Mother's Day. It's a holiday that doesn't show on the Kenyan calendar, and could easily be overlooked if you're not careful. But we remembered... or should I say Renee did. She reminded me gracefully sometime the week before. The kids made cards and breakfast and we bought her bunches of daisies.

At church, the Day was remembered in the sermon. And in the sermon was the obligatory salute to that woman of virtue from the book of Proverbs – that nameless woman known only by the chapter in which she resides. And there she was, getting up early and laboring tirelessly, cooking bountifully, buying property and whatnot. She's strong and dignified, both blessed and a blessing, and perhaps, at the end of the day, nothing but a poem. I don't know if there ever was such a woman, or if the passage in Proverbs 31 is a fiction. But I've heard the chapter read on more than a few occasions as an extraordinary ideal to aspire to, and I imagine it's left many women feeling just plain ordinary. I know one woman at least.

I thought about Renee much of that day, and how not ordinary she is. You might not know it unless you knew her, or if you only saw her there in that singular moment like I did, on the floor with a curling iron and a disappointed face looking back from the mirror. Sometimes, I think Renee doesn't even know it. I suspect that she might mistakenly gauge her life by the hairstyle she can't quite control, or the dinner that didn't come out quite right, or the unfinished or unrealized dreams she tucks away inside. Instead of the many other things that make her remarkable, like being a mother.

I was there for the miracle of the births of our two children. I wasn't there, however, when Renee prayed with each of them, years later and in God's timing, as they turned their hearts to the Lord. I remember one night while I was far off on flight duty in Sudan and I got a text message on my phone: "Amelia prayed to receive Christ tonight" it stated plainly. I stared at the glowing orange text and smiled. All of a sudden all my skills and experience and hard labor as a missionary seemed very small. And I texted back this reply: "This is how a mom changes the world."

She gave them life, and better still, pointed them to the True Life. Over the past couple of years it has also impressed me to watch my children read. And it struck me that this too they owe to their mom. No matter how long our children live, or where life takes them, they will always and forever have a reminder, in every printed word, that it was their mother who first taught them.

What incredible gifts; life, faith, knowledge. Are there any greater things that one human being could give to another? And Renee shrugs her shoulders. Sometimes thinks she's not important. Sighs at the reflection in the mirror and wonders why I call her beautiful. But she is. One day our kids will see what I see, and perhaps Renee will too.

(Happy Mother's Day sweetie.)]]>home2009-05-01T08:19:30+03:00http://www.delorenzoflyer.com/index.html#unique-entry-id-58http://www.delorenzoflyer.com/index.html#unique-entry-id-58
This, my first flight back, was a two-day trip far north into Ethiopia, and then beyond to an unnamable place. I travelled with two other AIM AIR pilots which made for cheerful company both in the air and on the ground. It felt good to be back in the left seat, belted in snugly like a part of the airplane. My jet-fuel stained flight uniform and squeaky leather boots. My mini pilot-clipboard strapped around a knee, sunglasses and an aviation headset framing my face. The comforting sounds of the radios and friends in my ear. At home at twelve thousand feet – at peace above a restless continent.

We flew up on Wednesday, and back home on Thursday. Our overnight was in an unfamiliar place in a precarious little corner of Africa. We stayed at "Rob's Hotel," which stood out as an overdeveloped cluster of buildings made of tile and arches set in a pebbly, arid, and insecure town. We were delivered by our armed escort from the airstrip into the care of the armed guards at the fortified gates of the hotel. Inside was a comfortable setting and good food. Posted near the door in our rooms was a welcoming message to the hotel's "honorable guests" with best wishes for a pleasant stay. It boasted of amenities such as laundry service and wireless internet, as well as a matter-of-fact reminder that alcohol was forbidden on the premises and, in case it wasn't already a given, "weapons and explosive devices are also strictly forbidden." Yep, back in Africa.

I slept solidly after the long day's flight, and to bed early enough to be wide awake for the 5 am "call to prayer" resonating from a mosque somewhere outside the compound walls. It was a good reminder to pray myself, which when I did came out mostly as thanksgiving. Thanks for the health and strength and opportunity to fly and serve again here in Africa. Thanks for God's guiding hand in our lives. And there in that place I cannot name, thanks for the light of the gospel which lights my way.

We took off fairly early on Thursday from a rocky airstrip in the hills, just a few passengers and we three crew - myself and Jim, trying to build some flying time and re-familiarize ourselves with the airplane, and Andy there to oversee. At times we had more pilots than passengers, which left plenty of available energy to quiz one another on the flight manuals, and laugh at each-other's lame attempts to schmooz out an answer to something we clearly hadn't studied. Andy, in the meanwhile, wove a web of wires connecting our three headsets over a voice activated intercom, and then wired in an iPod and a Grisham "book on tape". We soared around puffy fair-weather cumulous, and occasionally around a small thunderhead and a blast of rain. If the seatbelt didn't hold me through the turbulence, I thought surely the tangle of cords would.

At times, Jim would lose interest and retreat to the back of the plane to chat with the passengers. Each time he moved, I would have to re-trim the pitch controls as the poor airplane's center of gravity shifted with Jim's whimsy of seat selections. It's difficult to characterize "Captain Jim". After something like 27 years of service flying in Africa, he is, for good or ill, a legend. On a long flight, he is pure entertainment. There are the unbelievable stories, the exploits, the international incidents. But there's also the endearing way Jim can pour his limitless energy into something seemingly mundane. Like the way he scored thirty-two free Burger King Whoppers this last furlough. I heard the amazing details of the scheme twice on our leg home. Once when he explained it to me. And the second time as he relayed it, like an insider's stock tip, to the passengers in the back of the plane. Even over the roar of the engine and through the noise-cancelling circuitry of my headsets, I could glean Jim's pearls from the conversation in the aft seating area. I smiled and steered on, making slight corrections in altitude and course.

For some brief moments, while air traffic control had nothing to say, while Andy was engrossed in his audio book, and Jim was swapping stories in the back, I had the airplane and the sky seemingly all to myself. It was noisy, but quiet. All fury and motion yet still. Flying the plane was, unexpectedly, like "riding a bike" – natural and easy and fun. And it was like I had never left.

Renee and the kids and I have settled back in quite well after two weeks. In reconnecting with friends and coworkers, in the familiarity of our home and hometown, in the the warm sun on our faces... we feel like we are once again where we belong. And in the view from the sky these past two days, I can see that we are.]]>home2009-04-15T17:05:59-04:00http://www.delorenzoflyer.com/index.html#unique-entry-id-57http://www.delorenzoflyer.com/index.html#unique-entry-id-57
I prayed over the kids that morning, knowing full well that time would march on, even as the morning sun was tracing a path across the living room floor. And I knew they would inevitably grow older and wiser to a hurting and hurtful world. I briefly wished I could shelter them from it, as they lay sheltered beneath my careful watch that morning. But I prayed instead that God would give me courage beyond the day. I prayed for courage to help guide my children beyond the moment. When the sun would eventually wake them up and present us with another day. And then into another night.

I remember thinking that morning that it was time for us to head back to Africa again. As much as our hearts were back there in ministry, I realized it would be easy to stay right here in NY. Easier to keep our ordered life in order. Easier to be safe.

When we lived in Virginia many years ago, Renee and I had a pastor who would sign his letters with the salutation: "brave journey." I always loved those words. It reminded me that on this road where we follow Jesus, in our Christian life or into some special calling, it will at times require courage. And as I've grown in faith and experienced the front lines of missionary work over the years, I've whispered those words to myself on many an occasion.

So when I got up from the couch that sunny morning months ago, I said those words again. Because I knew we would be here again, where we are today. In the terminal at Newark International Airport. Our ordered life once again reduced to twelve suitcases and sent down the conveyor belt, a 24-hour trans-Atlantic trip ahead of us. Leaving home and friends and family to engage in another journey. Our beautiful kids in tow.

I wonder sometimes how we walked away. From that feeling of security, and the "promise" of a good life. But those thoughts don't last long. Because right now I can't think of a better place to be, glancing over my shoulder to see if we're ready to board the plane, following the Lord and finding courage for the day.

It's easy actually. Easier than basking in the sun and safety of sitting still. And I think that has something to do with the many people who have encouraged us - who have literally "spoke courage" to us. And something to do with the prayers they pray each and every day.

To those of you who pray for us - Thank You.

We land in Nairobi on Thursday.
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And we were, at every turn on our 4000 mile trip. Much to our disappointment, time didn't allow for us to see everyone we had hoped to, but for everyone we did see on the road... thank you. Thank you for your hospitality and kindness. Thanks for the good meals and the encouraging words. For listening to our stories and sharing your lives with us. For your generosity. And most of all, for your prayers.

Back in New York now we have booked our return flight for April 15th, a Wednesday. With a date on the board, we've mentally switched gears to attend to the logistics of a departure in 33 days. A whiteboard in the dining room is counting down the days and below that is a long list of everything we need to (or hope to) accomplish before we leave. Zach and Amelia are excited about going back, even if there's a touch of idealism in their memories of the home they left behind. Renee and I are well aware that the grass is not necessarily greener there in Nairobi, but we are equally excited anyway. Kenya still has some serious problems simmering. There were riots in the city just this past week. But even so, I think we are returning to a slightly less stressing situation than the one we left last year. No matter what we go back to, there's a certain amount of anxiety that always comes with the anticipation of leaving America for Africa. Both Renee and I take a little comfort in the fact that we've done this before, and we're getting used to it. But this transition is more complicated than other furloughs because we've been home so long. So we covet your prayers as we work through our to-do lists these next 4 weeks. And even more as we transition back to life in Kenya.

Here at the mission office today, we were all off-duty. I walked up to the glass door this morning and noticed a note taped there declaring it "closed." Very unofficial in nature, you might have supposed that they were being fumigated on a Friday afternoon. But the real reason: today was our annual "day of prayer." The staff, prohibited from even checking emails, gathered to sing in worship and pray in small groups. We prayed for hours through a long list of issues and concerns from each of AIM's sending offices, and each of AIM's fields of service in Africa. As we prayed, I was transported to some of the places. And I could see some of the faces of missionaries we know and admire. Two things struck me as we did this. One, how much I missed being there, even as we spoke of dangers and discouragements. And two, how much I appreciated being part of an organization that prays.

They only set apart this one special day to actually close the doors and make an event of it, but they pray together nearly every day in some small, structured way here at the home office. I think I'll miss that once we get back to Kenya, where I'll once again find my sanctuary in the solitude at twelve thousand feet.

That place still seems so far in time and space from right here and now. But it's probably closer than I know. ]]>