It’s a season of seeking. Of staying put, pressing in, and finding out.
It’s humid days and cool nights.
Late morning breakfasts and deep soul exploring.
Taped photos on walls and a bed to call mine.
For a while, home.
—
Last week I moved to Georgia, and three days later, barely alive on three hours of sleep, I was sent to the wilderness.
They told us the minimal: pack a sleeping bag, socks, a journal. Leave all technology at home. Thanks for coming, they said, though we had no choice. But we laughed about it and I wondered if this would just be the way things would go for the next four days.
It was.
We distributed the goods and set out for the hour and a half drive to somewhere I still do not know. Newness, delirium and hunger clouded my mind. But soon enough, One Direction was left behind in the van, and we hopped out to join the giant spiders and tall trees of Southern forest.
We hiked in silence. We were given questions to mull over during the journey; mull I did. But five questions, a few hours and a granola bar later, my pink sandaled feet were tired and I couldn’t handle much more of the clanging pots hanging from my backpack.
Good thing, cause we had just crossed into South Carolina.
Of course A Walk to Remember was referenced and we walked a little slower across the state line, as I joked that someone should’ve packed butterfly tattoos. They’re a camping staple.
Much of our trip was silence. Thoughts. Prayers. Songs stuck in our heads. More thoughts. I was surprised where my mind traveled.
Over the course of the next few days, a lot of granola bars were consumed, and a lot of silent conversations with God were had. Perhaps I hadn’t seen it before, but maybe I was too busy looking at a screen to deeply reflect in ways that nature allowed.
The word rage came up once during our hike. I was surprised and had no idea where it came from, but the more I processed and talked it out with the group and with God, the more I realized how truly angry I have been.
I’ve felt betrayed. I feel like my trust has been broken. I feel left behind, but forced to move ahead all at once while struggling to breathe in the in between.
And I’ve been downright angry about it. Which is silly, really, because I knew what I was signing up for over a year ago: eleven months of travel and mission work. But this go around has been harder to recover from, perhaps because I was all in, deeply and honestly all in.
And now it’s done and gone and hard for me to accept.
The other day I finally found the word I’ve been searching for to describe how I’ve been: reeling. I keep saying I’m so tired, but really, I think I’m just tired of reeling. Of feeling all sorts of confused and alone. Of knowing a lot and having the insight but unsure of how to execute both in real life.
Yesterday, sitting on a giant rock in the river, I ate a pop tart and drank awful instant coffee from a tin cup and asked God what he wanted.
“Rest,” he said. “I want you to rest.”
I took two naps.
So this next season of life has started, and I’m still afraid and a little bit angry, but I feel more at rest. Less reeling and more rest.
South Carolina, you have terribly windy roads, but I am thankful for your woods.
