Oslo, Norway. At long last, I'm back to my second-favorite country ever (hey, as screwed up as it may be, the good ol' U.S. of A. is still pretty sweet). I sort of fit the typical Norwegian body type and appearance, so I get a lot of people trying to speak Norwegian with me when I'm over there - I always feel slightly sheepish to have to reply in English and shatter their perceptions. Oh well. I met up with part of the U.S. team here in Oslo, and spent a good portion of the day walking around Oslo with Lindsey, Cayley, Lars, Cody, and Kelsey while I killed time in between my flight arrival in the morning and my bus departure that evening. It was good to put some faces to names (actually, that's a lie; thanks to the almighty Facebook, I already knew what everyone looked like, but it was still great to meet them in real life) and get to know some of the people I'll be spending the next 6+ weeks with.

Right now I'm on my way via bus to Skjolden with some "extra" luggage... 5 extra bags of supplies, to be precise. The guys I met today are doing some exploring on their own before the trip officially starts next week, so I'm bringing some of their extra gear as well as some food and supplies for the summer that Darrell and Annette (the trip leaders) sent over with them. Finally, I'm living up to my self-ascribed nickname of "the sherpa!" My life is now complete. Hopefully I'll be able to get some sleep on the bus ride tonight (it's 10pm local time now), because I've gotten next to no sleep over the last 30+ hours. It's possible that I may have gotten an hours worth of sleep on the plane ride from Newark to Oslo last night, but that estimate would be a bit optimistic.

I had a very bad moment when I boarded the plane which served to sour the rest of the flight for me. Earlier that morning when I had checked in online, I had managed to procure a fantastic seat (bulkhead/exit row, window seat), which caused me to positively drool at the thought of being able to sit on a plane without my knees bashing me in the nose. But as I was about to take my seat, a woman with a small child who was in the middle seat of my row started talking to me in Norwegian (of course). Once she realized I was American, she effortlessly and fluently switched to English... and politely and pleadingly asked if I could switch seats with her husband, who was 5 rows back in an aisle seat (I hate aisle seats; the flight attendants are always bashing my shins and shoulder when they try and drive their battering ram of a beverage cart down the aisle). Being the prototypical "pushover Christian nice guy" that I am, I of course offered to switch with her husband in order to reunite this poor family, split apart by the ravages of air travel.

As soon as I acquiesced to the request, I immediately HATED myself for doing so. I was at the point of tears as I tried to squeeze my ungainly form into the too-tight aisle seat, and found myself asking the question, "Is this what Christianity is supposed to look like?" On the surface, it makes sense... "do unto others, love your neighbor," etc. But I was so filled with bitterness, discontent, anger, and claustrophobia that the only thing I could think was that if Jesus would have switched seats with that family (which I'm sure he would have, and cheerfully), then I'm not so sure that I want to be exactly like Him. It sounds and looks heretical to even write that, but it is (or at least was) true. So the question I've been asking myself ever since then is this: should I do the "right thing" if I know that it's going to make me feel like shit? Isn't the "joy of the Lord" supposed to be my reward for doing what seems to be the right thing? I suppose if I had turned her down, I would have felt a little self-conscious while I was sitting next to her for the 9 hour trip. And maybe my self-pity and self-centeredness clouded my vision and kept me from taking advantage of a new opportunity to talk to new people in my new (albeit cramped) seat.