A Season of Change
There’s a strange thing that happens when you abandon your hometown and move 600 miles away from everything you know and everyone you love. It’s something that happens quick and is so subtle that you hardly notice it slipping under your skin. Then one day you go for a run and it’s just there flowing through every part of you.
That thing? It’s called faith.
Faith that I’ll push through that last mile. Faith that I’ll find my wings at work and finally fly solo. Faith that I’m going to be okay here.
When you’re lost in a brand new city and you don’t know anyone other than the people you work with, your roommate who’s never in town, and another friend who never stays in one place for longer than a week unless she’s being paid to, you do the only thing that makes sense. You find your people.
For the first time ever, I did a very grown up thing that I bet no one saw coming.
I went to church.
That’s right. Me. The stubborn girl who doesn’t trust the weatherman unless he has a window in his office, is trying to trust something she can’t even see.
Let me tell you, it’s definitely not easy. Every day I wrestle with the big what ifs and whys of the world. But every week I go to Hope Church a few blocks from my house, and every Tuesday night I meet up with an awesome group of women my age and we hash out those big questions.
I’m in a season of change and I’m just figuring it all out as I go.