I’m on a race against time. The clock tick tocks, prompting me to say goodbye. To one of the most beautiful places, and to the most beautiful people. So I’ve decided to refuse to say goodbye and am going to try my best to fit everyone into my 60L backpack.
I’ve discovered that goodbyes are hard, but new hellos are even harder. Finally getting attached to people and then having to go separate ways only to be expected to do it again. Talk about a broken heart. I’ve come to grow even fonder of heaven; it will be one giant eternal celebration with those I love most. And I won’t even have to smuggle them into my pack.
While I’m excited to embark on a new adventure, I’m more nervous about training camp and meeting the people I’m to call my family for the next year than I am about actually leaving the States. Put me on a plane to a foreign speaking country, and I’ll manage. Enjoy it. But sign me up for a week of summer camp meets college orientation frenzy and I’ll break out in hives. Fetal position? You betcha.
So yeah, new hellos are far from fun for me. Hiding inside my shell is more my thing—it’s safe and it’s comfortable. But it’s not necessarily enjoyable. What I’ve learned [through so much hard experience] is that coming out of my shell and widening my comfortable circle to let more souls occupy it is so very much worth it. But even that doesn’t make goodbyes any easier.
Saying goodbye also means not having a home for a while. And I’m actually beyond excited about that. I’d rather sojourn month to month than settle down in one place for a bajillion years. But I don’t know what home will look like when I get back. Where it will be, who will be there. Who will take me back, if you will.
Tick tock says the clock. Not like the deadly discovery of Beetee and the Hunger Games crew or in the dangerously carefree style of Kesha [who I guess didn’t learn how to spell? America]. Tick tock it goes, pushing me closer to the moment of finalizing the punctuation of this chapter and pressing the final Oregon flower.
I know with all of my being that this is what I’m supposed to do. I’m not questioning my decision to travel with and for God whatsoever. But this is so much more than giving up eleven months of my life. I’m choosing to give up my home, my “roots”, my close friends. My future. And that is the scariest part of all.
But God is good. God is sovereign. He orchestrates simple notes into one grand, colorful song. He takes the rhythmic and consistent tick tocks of the clock and uses them for His purpose and plan, not bound by date and time.
So I trust. I say my peace and don’t look back. My backpack filled. My heart full.
