>I’m standing in the shuttle back to the parking lot, holding on for dear life to the strap that binds itself to a metal bar, making me friends with gravity on this insanely fast shuttle. There is an older couple in front of me, who seem to have just come back from some time in Cancun or Madrid; I can’t decipher through his “I ❤ Madrid” and “I ❤ Cancun” keychains that dangle from his backpack.

I start to ponder their life. Married for more than a century, retired, always dreamt of traveling and now they’re living that very dream. Wherever they’re from, I have this increasing jealousy running through my bones. It is because they are together and they are doing these things together. What a rush. Well, who knows, maybe they just got back from Uncle Bob’s funeral in Utah.

What ever it is, they’re not in my point of life. The point in my life where I packed up my 21 years of living into boxes and began… again. I began again in a new state, beginning with new little roots and new pages to a new book. Sure, exciting and exhilarating as it may seem, I feel the hole eating at me. The hole where my friends used to be, the hole where my kids were, the hole where Little Road connected Spring Hill and Trinity together – the incredibly, unnecessary hole that hurts at the thought of anything pertaining to “home”. Strange, I never thought that I would call New Port Nowhere “home”. It seems that it has come to that, though.

I am not complaining. I would feel selfish and wrong for complaining, because God wants me here. I know for sure He does, and who knows why, but He does. I don’t want to question His ability to turn holes and nothingness into something-ness. Because He can. So, I am sitting here with these little micro-holes in my chest (how Dashboard Confessional of me) just trusting and waiting on His timing and His surprise to bring that new community that I am so antsy for. He knows how much I need it.

I mean, my gosh,  what would I have done without Chelsea? Holly? Olivia? Andrea? Liz? Natalie? Nicollette? I do not know. They were my best cheerleaders and still are. So, I am trusting Him in that.

God, it’s just hard. It’s hard because I am not the age of the travelers I see; the ones who wear their travels on their backpacks. I am merely 21, following your will for my life and I am finding out that taking up my cross and following you daily is sometimes going to require sacrifice, heartache and leaving people I love. My travels will be marked through blogging and through pages of my journal that Chelsea bought me. While I know I am not those travelers, I am on a journey that is far more exciting than the beaches of Cancun and the mountains in Madrid. I trust in You, and that is all I know to do at this point. Bring it on.

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