Panic & Prophecy, The Past & The Present...

Panic:

It's well past midnight.

And I am a mess.

And my room looks like a bomb went off.

There are little pieces of wreckage scattered here and there and everywhere.

And I haven't stopped shaking in hours.

Just. Keep. Breathing.

My heart is a DJ, skipping tracks and slamming beats.

And the air in this place is heavy with Arizona.

And as with every step forward, I am dancing in the tug-of-war.

Is this what winning looks like?

I ask myself that a lot these days.

But the simple truth is that I just don't know.

I have been called brave a lot lately and yet, those words seem to be a disconnected cable inside my head of which I have yet to feel the electricity spark...

But here I am nonetheless...T-minus 15 hours to take off...

And it seems as if my body is all ready in this strange orbit of it's own making.

I was a brave girl once upon a time.

But that was a long time ago.

And I sit here unkempt and undone on this floor as time is marching off into outer space, wrestling with the before and after. With where I was going and where I am going. With the woman that I was and with the woman that I am. With the hours that bled my courage dry and with the years of rebuilding that have followed.

I have reached the cross roads and this much I know, I can spend the rest of my life running or I can lean into the fear and do it anyway.

Because maybe in the end, you either get to hold regret or fear, but it can't be both.

I don't know what happens next but I know that this moment and this journey are so much bigger than a mere holiday.

And dare I suggest to my inner cynic that God is at work in the details, because that is what He does. And when we least expect it...

Prophecy:

I picked it up a few nights ago, my hard bound travel journal. I was flipping through the pages and the words "waiting room" caught my eye and so I read those words in full. And something washed over me, something eerie and reverent and bittersweet....

November 12, 2015 [In flight to Amsterdam...]

"There is meaning in every journey that is unknown to the traveler." -Dietrich Bonhoeffer

The story has always been bigger than me- these fractured pieces with their awkward fit as they make up the shape of my life- and here I sit on a 747 jetliner filled with people, I'm still here, I'm still fighting. This slow and interrupted redemption work has taught me to appreciate the view from the waiting room. And this trip has been comprised with me spending years in the waiting room. Sometimes when the door finally opens, it's almost too much, your heart fragile from the waiting builds up fears and doubts and in a moment all that you've ever longed for seems like an epic disaster before you ever take the first step to the door. Fear and doubt have taken up space at my table for awhile now, even as I sit here, I wonder if I somehow got this wrong, if I somehow made a grave mistake- but when I said yes to this trip, I meant my yes- maybe sometimes we need to dance with our fears and doubts and so I will because the story has always been bigger than me- and so here I go, fear and doubt, yes, but maybe just maybe little brave around the edges- I think it's time to open the door now, so here we go, here's the journey...

I remember writing those words mid-flight on my way to Kenya via Amsterdam. I was terrified. But it was a different fear. And I had my team to fall back on. And while those words fit the context of that moment, I believe in my bones that those words were written for this  moment. And maybe it's just enough to keep breathing, to lean into the fear, and walk to the door. Because I am done with the waiting room. Because The story has always been bigger than me.

So here I am, panic and prophecy. Fear and Doubt. Brave. Hand on the door. Here's to the journey, indeed...

-Jillian Nichole, terrified but hand on the door just the same...