Chapter Nine

Your Journey, Our Passion

It happened so fast I almost missed it. I had to catch up to the truck just to be sure I saw it right.

It was a Bridgestone truck, and on the back it said, Your Journey, Our Passion.

I smiled big. Of course God would speak to me like that.
My journey. His passion.

And yours too.

These past few weeks were unforgettable. Hard, beautiful, healing. I hope every one of my friends gets to experience something like it, in their own way.

God has a unique journey for each of us. He knows how and when to speak so we’ll hear Him. For me, it took miles—literal miles—and a long stretch of time alone with Him. It felt like a marathon, just me and God.

He had so much to say. About me. To me. And I was finally listening.

I was being refined. It was both wonderful and painful.

I cried more tears than I can count—tears of loss, regret, forgiveness, joy, gratitude, sorrow. My body ached from all the driving, but somehow those miles brought buried things to the surface. It was time to face them.

It cost a lot to be away this long—and it’s costing even more to wait on God to release me home. But I wouldn’t trade it.

What I really wanted was to bring the quietness I found back with me. That’s what worried me. When life gets busy—and especially when things go right—I tend to drift. Not from faith, but from that intimate awareness of His presence.

Even in obedience—reading the Word, praying daily—I often moved on too quickly. Onto the next thing. Sometimes even the next Christian thing. Doing had become a coping skill I didn’t want to bring home.

Driving here, the dashes on the road felt like markers of a girl being reclaimed.

Now, I prayed those same dashes would proclaim her freedom.

His journey. My passion.