Today I completed the more than 12-hour drive back to Illinois to pick up my car after nearly five months apart. The journey felt like more than just a drive; it was a return to something familiar, a reclaiming of independence, and a pilgrimage toward home and the people who make it feel that way.
For months, life has felt like navigating a maze with a blindfold on. While I had a rental car to keep me moving, the experience was anything but smooth. Dealing with the rental company and Ford was like wading through thick mud. Every step forward felt like a struggle, weighed down by delays and endless back-and-forth phone calls. Having my own car back isn’t just about four wheels and an engine; it feels like being handed the reins of my own journey again.
The miles stretched endlessly before me, a ribbon of highway unraveling like a chapter waiting to be written. The hum of the tires became the rhythm of a heartbeat, steady and relentless, carrying me closer to familiar faces and places that have stitched themselves into the fabric of my soul. Each town I passed was like a marker of time, a reminder that the road doesn’t just connect destinations. It connects hearts, memories, and the pieces of myself I sometimes forget I’ve left scattered along the way.
Much of this drive became sacred space—a moving chapel where prayers flowed as steadily as the passing mile markers. I found myself thanking God for what He has done in my heart over these last 3.5 months of living in Fargo: the courage He’s given me to start fresh in a new city, the healing that continues to unfold, the friendships slowly blooming, and the ways He’s been drawing me closer to Him in the stillness and the unknown. Each prayer was like a stone laid on the path ahead, reminding me that no matter where I go, He has been, and always will be, the One leading me forward.
By hour nine, the journey felt like climbing a mountain – every incline testing my endurance, every turn a reminder that reaching the summit would be worth it. And it was. Arriving in Illinois, I was met with hugs that felt like warm blankets on a cold night, laughter that filled the air like music, and the quiet comfort of simply being with people who know my heart without me having to explain a thing.
This trip reminded me that the long, winding road is not just a path to a destination; it’s a teacher. Every delay, every stretch of silence, every whispered prayer is a lesson in trust. God doesn’t waste the miles. He uses every one of them to draw us closer to His heart, to show us that no matter how uncertain the journey feels, His grace is steady, His love unchanging, and His presence unfailing.
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