A Love Song

Just 48 short hours ago, I was waking up to a gorgeous Lesotho sunrise as I prepared breakfast for my team. One of my best friends and I cracked jokes as we buttered toast and marveled at the masterpiece the Lord was painting across the horizon. Now I’m sitting on a plane, reunited with all 48 members of the squad that’s been my family for the last nine months, headed to Atlanta.

It doesn’t feel real in many ways. The change in culture and atmosphere was already shocking between the mountains of Lesotho and the filled streets of Johannesburg. Now we’re headed back to the states, where the familiarity will be more shocking. I’ve driven through Atlanta countless times in my life. Yet it’s this drive that I feel more unprepared for the any view overseas.

Coming home means the end of an era. The end of one of easily the sweetest and most fruitful season of my life up to this point. Before the race, I’d never experienced healthy, biblical community to this level. I’d never been out of the country. I struggled with emotional health and didn’t know who I was.

Now I’m a new creation. A woman of God who asks for help when she needs it, and is learning to run to the father for all her needs. My eyes have been opened to the fullness of life that comes from chasing after Jesus, the kind of fulfillment that has no alternative. I don’t want to go back to the girl I was.

I’ve only ever seen Atlanta from the lens of a girl who didn’t know what it meant to truly love or be loved. A girl who was looking for something more, when she had the answer all along. Simply, Jesus.

Now I’ll be at home, where everything is the same, but I feel different. I’ll have to say some hard goodbyes and step out of the community that I prayed for my entire life.

It’s easy to be fearful of the future. To wonder how anything this good could possibly happen to me ever again. To wonder if I’ll stay connected with my friends or make relationships that run as deep as these. To contemplate if I’ll ever be this happy again.

But I’m learning that I can’t put the wonderful, everlasting creator of the universe in a box. He has good plans for me, not just a good plan. He is sanctifying me every day, showing me more of his glory, making me more like him. He is preparing me for the places he will take me and the people I will love. He’s singing a love song over me. One he’s been singing since before I was born and one that will carry on into eternity. This may be my favorite verse so far, but the song is far from finished.

In Lesotho, I saw firsthand how creation declares the glory of the Lord; every element a stroke of his brush that proclaims the victory Christ has won and the glory of his majesty. My favorite thing to do was to join in worship with creation, knowing that every surrounding wildflower and mountain was extolling the Lord with me. They were content with being exactly how God created them to be, that they may show that part of his heart.

I don’t have to have to feel ready or be fearless to move forward. I don’t have to feel ready or want to move into my next season.

All I have to do is be exactly who the Lord made me to be, to keep my eyes locked on him and live out what I was perfectly designed to do: love him and be loved by him, exactly as I am.

I am not sure of much in my future. I don’t know where I’ll be in five years, or if I’ll ever have a season quite like the race. I don’t know what notes will play next in the composition of my life. But I do know the author, and that all his lyrics are true. And I know the chorus: “My daughter, I love you, for who you are, as you are”.

His love and provision aren’t leaving when the race ends. Neither are the lessons I’ve learned or the connections I’ve built. He’s still good, and he’s still composing something beautiful, no matter where I am.