i cried at the beach.

Let me set the scene for you. It’s mid March. I’ve just packed my suitcase with clothes to wear to a cathedral in Poland for Sunday mass, my new copy of the Metaxas biography on Bonhoeffer, along with the ugliest knee-high compression socks and melatonin gummies for the long flight from Tulsa to Paris, Amsterdam, and Warsaw. My Amazon order really said, “knock me out for this flight”. I’d been fully funded for this mission trip for a few weeks, getting all my ducks in a row. I’d committed to joining the trip to Poland in September, feeling stirred by a longing to go see God’s church somewhere outside of stuffy, old (wonderful) America. I just had this unscratchable itch to travel, and why not go to Poland and see a corner of the world I’d never seen before? Driving an hour to Arkansas on the weekend wasn’t cutting it anymore as a solution to escape my bland college town; I needed to see somewhere new. It was a perfect plan…until TSA agents decided to go on strike the few days before we were to depart and suddenly I found myself at the Tulsa airport, sitting on the floor for 6+ hours, hearing the dreaded news that our trip had been cancelled.

But let’s go back even further, to the six months leading up to this moment. After a large shift in relational plans heading into my senior year (that’s a very convoluted way to say… a breakup lol), I found myself gasping for air. With my emotions changing on the daily, the pure excitement and stress of my two closest friends getting married two weeks apart, the daily responsibilities of being an RA to a very full dorm floor, and the ever-lingering homesickness of a heartbroken girl that just wanted to curl up on my couch at home in Washington to escape from the gloom of campus, my heart was teetering on the brink of joylessness. An invitation to hop on a plane, fly to Europe, and do some missions work sounded like the air I so badly needed. By the time we got to the days leading up to the trip, my heart yearned for travel so deeply. I needed away from Joplin, away from the noise of my own mind wrestling with grief, and away from dumb reminders of why I was sad in the first place.

Travel has always been one of my deepest joys. From a young age, it always excited me more than a new toy, a night at the movies, or the most elaborate birthday parties. Travel was enchanting. When I was seven, my grandparents in California asked my parents if I would fly down to see them. Not a family trip, just me. I vividly remember the night around the dinner table my parents asked me if I’d want to get on an airplane by myself and fly to meet Gramma and Grampa at the airport so I could see them for a few days. When most parents would have expected their seven-year-old to immediately shy up and decline the offer, I responded with confidence that YES I wanted to go, and no I was not scared. I still remember every second of that flight, and the surprise trip to Disneyland that followed. I’m prettyyy positive that trip is the reason I was never afraid to fly after that, and why I have always seen travel as the most desirable way to spend my money and my time. I want to see every beautiful thing that God ever made. Whether that’s on the plains of Uganda, the mountains of Canada, or the lake I grew up at. I experience God when I travel, and I wanted to see Him in Poland.

I called my angel parents to tell them the news. They were leaving the next morning from Spokane to visit my grandparents in California for the weekend, and I called them as they were at dinner. Without wasting a second, my parents bought me a ticket on the next flight out of Tulsa to San Jose and said there was nothing they’d want more than for me to crash their weekend plans. I was stunned. In a matter of minutes I’d gone from dashed hopes of my European spring break, to a new excitement to go “home” and be with family. I won’t lie and say that my heart didn’t jump a little with joyful anticipation and new dreams for what my spring break could now be. And then….the Spirit met me in the Tulsa airport. What I wanted was to travel. Not to do missions. I’d wrapped up a very real desire and longing to travel in churchy wrapping paper and called it “missions”. Deeper than that, my grieving heart longed to felt seen by God and experience true rest after months of change and sadness. But the second a new plane ticket was bought and plans were made for California instead of Poland, I realized that the thing I really wanted was to be with my family and just get out of Joplin. At first, I felt guilty. Everyone else on our team had a two hour car ride back to Joplin and no missions trip. But the Lord sweetly spoke to me, “This was always my plan for you. A gift. Will you accept it?” So instead of putting on my eye mask and sleeping on a 16 hour flight to Europe, I stared out the window as I flew past palm trees and told God I’d let him surprise me. This would be His trip, His plans. Like a first date where you get picked up and told nothing about the night ahead of you other than what to wear and what time to be ready, this trip was a sweet invitation to a weekend away with God. I was just along for the ride.

This moment taught me so much. For one, that God always has a higher view. He sees things before they come into being, before plans are ever made. God knew that Poland was never going to happen, and that what my heart really needed was a reroute to warm weather and time with family that I desperately ached for. Soothing balm for my broken, tired heart. Second, God really does give good gifts. And before you push back and argue that this doesn’t happen to the average person on a whim, I want to challenge you. No, trips like this don’t happen every day. But do you believe that God wants to intervene in YOUR story, your life, and do something radically different, radically BETTER, than what you were planning on? Do you believe that He hears the things you speak and think to yourself that no one else hears, and He’s the only one perfectly equipped to do abundantly more than you could ask or imagine? Out of everyone in your life, He’s the only One who knows the inner workings of YOU. Human expectations break every day. We let ourselves down, we fail to live up to our own standards. But God? He never makes a plan for your life only to let you down. He never enjoys watching you hurt. He never sees you in your pain and thinks to Himself how He can prolong your suffering. The intention of His heart is always pure, always good, always kind.

My good gifts from God will look different than yours. You might not crave travel, or enjoy a massive change of plans. Your good gift might be an unexpected friendship you’ve adamantly prayed for, or simply a night of no plans to just simply…be. God knows my love language is the beach, incredible food, my family, and absolutely no plans other than laying in the sun. He knew that to surprise me with His BEST, he needed to speak my language. To shock me with the very thing my heart longed for yet couldn’t have. I’ll forever see this trip as one of the most tangible ways God has done more than I could ask or imagine.

My parents flew out from Spokane the next morning and we met up at the San Jose airport. Huge hugs, “I wouldn’t want to be anywhereeee but here,” and maybe a few tears were shed as we got into my Grampa’s car and drove home. The only downside to this change of plans was that my bags were packed for a week in overcast, European spring weather and not the sunny West Coast. So, I re-wore the one pair of shorts I brought and a random tank top I happened to pack (that was the Lord’s provision) and truly did not care one bit. I still got to wear my cathedral outfit, just to a steakhouse for dinner and not to mass. The next few days looked like homemade breakfasts and cold brew made by yours truly, nights on the patio in the warm, California air, admiring my Grampa’s hard work on his quickly-growing vineyard, and reading by the pool. One of the sweetest, most unexpected parts of this trip was celebrating my Gramma’s 80th birthday together in their home. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to spend her birthday with her since they live so far, so I made a cake and we sang to her. Alzheimer’s steals so many things, but we refused to let it steal the joy of this day. I will treasure that memory forever.

But NOW we get to the cherry on top of the whole thing. The day that felt the most special to me: my date day with God. My Grampa agreed to let me take the car for the day so I could drive to the coast, so I packed a bag with the necessities (sunnies, my film camera, a book, and sunscreen), threw on my overalls over a makeshift swimsuit (oops forgot to pack one for Poland), and I turned up my Justin Bieber with the sunroof open. San Jose is about an hour and fifteen minutes from the coast. If God had worked so hard to get me this close to the ocean, it was only right that I go jump in it, duh!! I drove into Carmel-by-the-Sea (& yes that is the real name of the town) with my maps routed and absolutely no plan for the day. The goal: to do with God whatever He wanted to do together. At the first sight of the ocean I couldn’t stop smiling. After scouting out the perfect coffee spot, I grabbed my honey cinnamon latte (did you expect me to get anything else?) and a gf carrot cake muffin, and made my way to the beach.

From where I parked, I had to walk over a sand dune to get down to the main beach. I stood at the top of the dune staring out at the ocean, and I cried. All at once, I could literally feel the stress and tension in my body of the last six months melt away into oblivion. There was nothing else, just me and the sea. Months of overthinking and inner thoughts of grief silenced in a single second, and there was just the warm ocean air breathing on me. I looked at the water and just thanked God that He knew to bring me here. So many things had to go wrong for this moment to feel so right, and there wasn’t any moment of heartache I’d trade to be able to feel the relief of being here, with God. This was the date that ONLY He could plan.

I found a spot in the sand to lay my things and ran straight into the water, laughing. Clothes on. Who cares? The rest of the day was spent eating good food (I told you I would), laying in silence listening to the rhythmic crashing of the waves, and doing absolutely everything but thinking about school or boys or stress or work. Just me and God, and a failed trip to Poland. I watched the sun start to set over the bay, asked some lady to take a picture of me at the top of the sand dune with a freshly picked flower in my hair, and my pockets and shoes full of precious sand I’d bring back to Joplin with me to decorate the carpet of my dorm room. One thing about me is I LOVE sand in my shoes. I’m not kidding. I wore those Birkenstocks to class every day for the next week just to feel the sand in my toes during long lectures and mentally escape back to the bliss that was my unexpected trip to California.

I’m starting a new series on the blog, I think it’ll be my memory lane. Maybe we’ll stroll down it again, soon.