I showered and went to church. (I can’t tell you how much I love that evening service. I was desperately needing the worship and fellowship.) I grabbed yogurt with a close friend. I crawled into bed and slept.
Monday morning arrived and I was instantly jolted back into “normal.” A day full of meetings, knocking out emails, and tying up loose ends. Finally home from the day-turned-into-evening’s events at 10 PM, I folded my clothes and carefully placed them back in my suitcase.
On the road. Again. It sounds overwhelming but truly, it is a sweet relief.
I treasure the hours of alone as I make my way to my destination, the Pacific Northwest. The hours to reflect. The hours to process. The hours to write. The hours to answer the two questions that everyone has asked since I returned to America.
How was your trip? Was it life-changing?
Questions that don’t just make me uncomfortable, questions that make my skin crawl in conviction. Questions that have made me realize how recklessly I have come to use the word “life-changing.”
At least once a week, something is “life-changing”… a sermon, a book, a song, a word of advice, a fish burrito. All inspirational in their own right, but seldom a catalyst for authentic life change.
And I don’t want this trip to savored and then slowly forgotten like a “life-changing” piece of pie.
I want this trip to be a seed planted deep within my soul that with the proper care will bloom, grow, and bear beautiful fruit.
I want this trip to be a recognizable turning point in my life. I want this trip to be a recognizable turning point in my heart.
So to all of you who are wondering, “How was your trip? Was it life-changing?”
All I can do is shrug and say, “I sure hope so. Will you please pray that it will be will be?”
What was the last thing you described as life-changing? Was it really…life-changing?