September.

Things are a bit calmer these days. Busy in the day-to-day, yes. But a general sense of peace has flowed through this new season of life I recently entered. September is a very confusing month, especially in the South. The humidity is still through the roof so morning runs only work at 7am. Starbucks has released Pumpkin Spice yet it's not quite cool enough to enjoy one. Nothing is really in bloom, yet trees have not begun losing their leaves. It seems as everything is just in transition, waiting, hoping for what's to come.

I've found myself nostalgic recently. Last September I had recently moved to Knoxville, TN and was beginning a new job, learning a new place, and recently engaged. Even with all the joy and excitement that engagement brought, I still had to fight through all the questions and confusion to decide that moving to Atlanta was the best next step. Even though this would mean I would only remain in Knoxville a mere five months - which was not the original plan. In this time I was doing my best to survive cultural re-entry, start a brand-new, full-time ministry, plan a wedding, drive almost every weekend to see my better half, consistently walk into rooms full of people where I didn't know a soul and somehow try to be an actual normal, functioning human being. Cue SOS signal.

On top of all that, I also found myself under an insane amount of self-imposed guilt and shame. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was disappointing people for leaving Knoxville and a ministry that I was hired to start. I couldn't help feeling like people thought the engagement happened too fast or the wedding too soon. I couldn't stop feeling like I was constantly just trying to keep my head above water yet somehow still unable to breathe. It was a lot to handle.

And I wish I could say I handled it well. But I didn't. I was one hundred and ten percent in survival mode, just looking for comfort in whatever change or transition was in front of me next. I was so sure that if I could just arrive at that next milestone - getting engaged, deciding to leave Knoxville, actually leaving Knoxville, moving to Atlanta, starting a new job in Atlanta, moving into an apartment, getting married, moving into a new house - that everything would be better. But it didn't. I constantly found myself wondering what I was missing, why I was lacking contentment, whether I would ever feel "normal" again. All the things that used to make me...well, me, were suddenly gone because it was all I could do to simply survive.

Again, I'll say - it was A LOT to handle. My identity was not only being remolded and reshaped. It was completely torn down and stripped away, and it felt like I was left with nothing. I wasn't, of course. I knew this. But my fragile heart felt weighty and different and lost. I missed my life in Nicaragua yet felt guilty about being happy I wasn't there. Even more, I missed who I was in Nicaragua - I missed being known by people I interacted with on a daily basis, I missed having purpose in my day-to-day living, I even missed the hardships that had somehow pushed me to a deeper awareness of my truest self.

But then this year's September came. And for the first time in a long time, I could breath freely again. I had routine. I had a place. I had budding friendships. I had purpose. I had structure. I felt normal. Yes, everything around me was still different. I, in fact, was very different. I'm not the same person I used to be. And that's okay.

I talked on the phone recently to my friend Cindy, who I worked with closely in Knoxville. As she was telling me how the ministry has played out since I left, I felt such relief. As it turned out, God really only needed me in Knoxville for those five months--no more, no less. The ministry I was hired to start didn't fail because I left sooner than everyone anticipated. In fact, it has flourished into something beautiful that I could have never imagined. Maybe, just maybe, in those moments last September when I couldn't get out of bed or wondered what it was all for or felt the weight of other people's disappointment in me--God was whispering "I've got this."

Little by little, this September became a month of restoration for me. A month of laughter and joy and slowness. A month of remembrance and looking back and reminiscing. A month of rediscovering who I am and where I'm going. My life looks a lot different than it did a year ago. I look a lot different than I did a year ago. And isn't that the way it's supposed to be?