Leaving.
That one word feels a lot like failure.
I know it’s not though.
Home.
I’m heading home for month 5 of my world race.
Recovery.
Healing.
Rest.
Coming back stronger than before.
That’s the goal.
Emergency surgery in Honduras changed the route I had planned for this year.
So now, I sit on a plane, waiting to take off back to America.
The lady to my left, breathing very heavily, seeming anxious.
The man to my right, fidgety, reeking of a dirty, musty, rotten cheese smell.
Kind flight attendants checking on me to make sure my bags are put away above me, since I can’t lift them on my own.
Across the isle a young mother with her two young children. Both children with their squishy cheeks flattened up against the window, watching the workers running around on the ramp.
People streaming past me, filing down the aisles to their seats.
Voices through loud speakers announcing departure once everyone is seated.
Cold air blasting on my face.
Emotions washing over me as reality sets in.
Goodbyes, yet again.
This morning I said I goodbye to my squad for a month and said goodbye to my squad leaders for the rest of the race.
Thankful to have people in my life that make saying goodbyes so hard.
Emotions divided between sadness and excitement.
Excited to see my family and friends in the states.
Eager for hugs from my little boys and snuggles with my dog.
Anxious to catch up with dear friends and to pour into them for a few weeks, and have them love and pour into me in return.
Leaving behind something good for a season.
Heading into another good thing for a season.
Thank you Jesus for different seasons and for walking me through each one.
Another voice overhead.
Doors being latched firmly shut.
Plane rolling towards the runway.
Here we go.
Full speed ahead into a new season.
