For years I dreamt of being a traveler.
Sophomore year of high school I sat in a graduation ceremony
thinking, Man, I hope that all these
graduates who say they want to travel someday actually do it. And I thought the same thing for myself.
The good news is that even though I balked at the idea of
not having a “normal” American post-high-school story, God set it up so that
five months after graduation, I found myself on the streets of Albania, soaking
in the shock of a culture worlds away from mine. On our way home, I walked through a German
castle, stopped by a centuries-old cathedral, and ate roasted chestnuts, all
while unsuccessfully wrapping my mind around the wonder of it all.
Fast forward a couple years.
I embarked on a journey halfway across the globe that would once again ruin
me for normal. After many long flights
happily shared by some of my closest friends, I realized that for the next two
months, I would be waking up in Africa.
Africa! I will always remember
that trip—the people I met, the culture I experienced, and the mark that
beautiful continent left on my heart.
But then, it stopped for a while. Life was normal again. Mediocre.
Not what I dreamed of.
Every single morning, I would merge into the rushing
interstate highway, trying to catch a glimpse of the majestic sunrise to my
left. I knew that my day would be
stressful yet rewarding, and would end with a sweaty, smelly version of me who
would probably need some serious emotional recharge. But during that morning commute as the sun
rose hopefully over the horizon, I would almost always imagine that instead of going south towards work, I was instead going northeast towards the airport, getting
ready to get on a plane and embark on an adventure.
It’s funny; I did just that this morning, and yet I almost
didn’t get on that plane.
All yesterday afternoon as I flurried around my room throwing
things in a suitcase (trying to be as economical with that precious space as
possible), I just cried. Ugly cried. I already missed home, could already feel the
isolation that is felt only by being on an island thousands of miles away from
anything, and felt pretty scared about a couple different things. Yep, and as I cried out to God to please stay with me and make good on promises
I have yet to see fulfilled, I felt like he was right next to me, catching
every tear, hearing (really hearing) every word.
See, this journey has been one of faith, and I have to say I
failed rather horribly at it. I walked
by sight and not by faith when everything didn’t happen in my timing. I had to learn humility to receive help where
I always was strong. But this morning, I
was flooded by a true peace that passes understanding.
Whatever may come, God finishes what he starts. Fear can paralyze you, but it can’t if you
let go and fall into Him. Whatever comes
up is overcomeable, just not in my own strength.
What makes me a traveler?
Is it all the times I dreamt of going to new lands? Is it the hours and hours I spent watching
travel vlogs, trying to feel the plane take off, the sand under my feet, and the
wind on my face? Or is it because I decided
to get on the plane?
Maybe it’s all those things. Regardless, here’s to another year of trusting God more, learning to
be more humble, dreaming bigger than ever before, and stepping back to let God
do what he does best—the impossible.
