The best kind of growth is the kind that sneaks up on you. The kind you sort of lean into gradually and naturally. And you may not even notice it happening, until one day you come to the grand realization that the person you once were is no longer the person you are now. They are related, no doubt, but there is something different. Some part of you has changed and you have slowly morphed into a better version of the person who once stood in your place.
When I noticed that this change had taken place it was our first day in Japan. Let me preface this all by saying that between South America and Asia a lot of major transitions took place. We got a new set of coaches (a married couple who acts as our mentors and visits us on the field sporadically throughout our journey). Deon and Rynette are amazing. They have so much wisdom and such a closeness with the Lord that is extremely inspiring. We got new squad leaders. We started The Race with Kelsey and Wes as our leaders, two energetic, amazing mentors who have already done the Race themselves and have now given up another year of their lives to be here for us as we run our own Race. Kelsey will be headed home at the end of November, and as we approach the end of her time here, two members from our squad were trained and raised up to fill her role together. Molly Reel and Esther Gordon are our new leaders, and although I hate to see Kelsey leave, I am so excited to have these girls for extra support this year.
My team changed. Lutroo was divided and I am now part of a new family called Kairos (a Greek word meaning “defining moments”). Adrienne and Lauren were carried over from my old team, but I had to say goodbye to Jessica and Christina. Leaving the girls I had adopted into my heart as sisters for the past four months was hard and I will miss them, but I know God has other plans for me in this new season. As part of those plans, He gave me four new, amazing sisters who I am so excited to run the next leg of this race with: Meagan, Shannon, Rocky and Adri.
(Team Karios at an ancient castle in Osaka, Japan. Our first big adventure together!)
There was a lot of change crammed into those four days of debrief, but I knew that it was only the beginning of the transition. I still had a new country, a new language, a new culture and a whole new continent ahead of me.
When I stepped off the plane in Japan it was like stepping onto a whole new planet. People would speak to me in Japanese, and I would respond to them in the only “non-english” way I knew how: “Hola, Buenos dias!”…
I went to the bathroom in the airport and stood in the stall for an extra 3 minutes, battling the moral dilemma of whether or not I could actually throw toilet paper in the toilet: it felt like a sin. (For the past four months in South America, TP went in the trashcan and was never flushed. I had been trained.)
The next morning I sat on a beautiful hiking path outside the retreat center we were temporarily staying at, looking out over the breathtaking mountain ranges and the vibrant colors of the autumn leaves, and in my journal I wrote this:
“I am so beyond excited. Ever since we stepped off the plane here in Japan I’ve had this new energy about me of just sheer joy and excitement. I feel refreshed and hopeful for this month. Why?—Because change is exciting.”
My pen stopped and the next line in my journal wrote, “Who the heck am I? And where did that just come from?”
For the vast majority of my life, the thought of change terrified me. Anyone who knows me knows that I love tradition, and breaking a family tradition or even just a habit is off the table. When I find something I love it’s hard for me to let that go. The same goes with transitional periods in life: high school to college, graduating college and thinking about “the real world”, the thought of moving homes or cities or changing jobs, churches, locations—it was all too terrifying to handle. The thought that anything new could compare to the old was ridiculous. How can anything be better than the way it is now?
So what happened?
I’ve changed. Somewhere in the past four months, without even noticing, something inside of me shifted. Now the thought of moving to a new place, speaking a new language, experiencing a new culture and meeting new people excites me. Don’t get me wrong, the goodbyes are still just as painful, but I have a hope for the new. I actually look forward to the challenges ahead and to the next season God wants to walk me through, whether it is a season of stretching me through trials or a season of prosperity through great blessings.
My fear of change has disappeared and it is because what I feared of it has proven to be a lie: Nothing can compare to the old. Things cannot get better than they are in this very moment. The truth is that they not only can get better, but they do. And each time I tell myself they can’t, God completely wrecks my theory by placing in front of me something new and beautiful—something greater than I could have even dreamed up on my own.
Just like at home, the leaves are changing here in Japan, turning all sorts of beautiful reds and yellows and oranges. They are surrendering to the season the Lord has placed them in, and because of that they are becoming brighter and more vibrant than they ever were before. The same is true for you. If you surrender into the season the Lord wants to bring you into, He will make you shine with brighter colors than you ever could have foreseen, and He will make your blessings “as numerous as the stars in the sky.”
