I'm pretty sure that in the last two weeks I've eaten more french toast than I have in the rest of my life. That's not an exaggeration, either. Growing up I wasn't the biggest fan of french toast (yeah I know… I have no idea.) So I only ate it occasionally. As an adult, I typically don't prefer something sweet for breakfast, so I never really tried it. And then I quit eating wheat and gluten all together, so it wasn't even an option. But then I was healed of my allergy (read about that here), and then I came to Malawi, where we have our own kitchen and cook our own food (a HUGE luxury on the race!) And then Sydney made french toast one night for dinner.
And it was all over. Since that night I've eaten french toast most mornings for breakfast, I've cooked it occasionally for lunch, and confession: Ash and I even ate it at 11:00 last night. Were we hungry? Not really. Just that in love with french toast.
Each time I devour (and I do mean devour) my new found love, I think to myself,
"I can't believe I was missing this the whole time!"
I've been living in the ignorance of all that is french toast, and now I feel like I'm making up for lost time, eating it every chance I get.
I kind of feel the same way about my time on the race.
As I live out month 11, a month that felt like it would never come, I've been reflecting on what I've walked through. How I've changed. What's different about me as I prepare to come home.
And I've arrived at this:
The single way I've changed the most is that I live in a new reality of who Jesus is.
I've known Jesus most of my life. I've walked with him, believed in him, I was even willing to spend a year of my life living out of a backpack for him. I've known him most of my life, but I haven't KNOWN him… not like this, anyway.
And I'm not talking about a creepy, cliche, or super wacky view of religion that I'm coming back with.
I'm talking about this deep, intimate covering of love and relationship.
I'm talking about the authority that I've walked into as a co-heir with him in heaven.
I'm talking about the complete, unshakeable identity I have as a child of promise.
I'm talking about the total freedom that I walk in as a woman redeemed by his blood.
I'm talking about the rest I can carry, no matter my circumstances, because I'm leaned into him, and he's leaned into our Father.
I'm talking about intimacy. I'm talking about reality.
Sometimes I think about this new reality I live in and I think to myself,
"I can't believe I was missing this the whole time!"
And sometimes in my walk with Jesus, I feel like I'm making up for lost time. I want to devour all of who he is and who that makes me. I feel voracious. And most of the time, on the race, it's been easy to sit down at the table and feast on what the Lord has to offer me.
But in 16 days I'll be back on U.S. soil. I'm not going to lie, sometimes I get nervous when I think about coming home. I worry that in a different environment, it will be harder to live in my new reality. I worry about what people will expect from me. What they'll see in me. Who they will decide that I am.
I'm the same person that boarded a plane with nothing but a backpack eleven months ago.
But some deep rooted things in my heart have changed. And I think these things have made me better. More steady. More confident. More free. More rested. More loving. I hope more like Jesus.
And now I have to navigate how to integrate my new reality into my old reality. And to be totally honest, I'm nervous.
But I know it will be okay. It will be good even. Because as I'm navigating this, as I'm "re-entering" U.S. culture, as I fight through what might be hard changes, I'll still be feasting on my new realities. On french toast (although I might need to cut back a little bit, for the sake of my jeans!) And on the reality of who Jesus is.
