Eleven.

Eleven years ago today, I moved from Dallas to Philadelphia.

I got on a plane with a one-way ticket from beautiful friends who believed God enough to support me on my journey–even so far as to drive my car halfway across the country.

I embarked on an adventure of trusting God to do more than I could do on my own.

I left the familiar comforts of knowing when, where, and how to do things. Simple things, like how to get to the grocery store, how to get my car inspected, how to pay for tolls on the highway. I never expected to be so profoundly disoriented in my own country simply by moving to a new city and state.

On this journey, I’ve questioned God’s goodness and sovereignty. He has been so patient with my wrestling. More than I deserve.

I’ve experienced emotional pinnacles and waded through some of life’s nadirs.

I’ve done things I never knew I’d do: made disciples, led a ministry, been jobless, taught high school, attended graduate school, worked as an administrative assistant, helped people get married, gotten married myself, watched a child being born, birthed my own, recorded an album, taught workshops, lost my last surviving parent, lost friends, made new ones.

I wish I’d trusted God more, and more quickly.

I wish I’d rested in Him more.

I wish I’d been wiser with my tongue, saying the things that should have been said and keeping my mouth shut at the right times.

I wish I hadn’t been timid when a moment called for boldness.

Overall, I’m grateful for the journey and hopeful for the future. I hope I’ve learned from what my mother called the shoulda-woulda-couldas.

I hope my daughter learns from mine, too.

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