As I sat outside of Gate 35 at DCA, sniffling and holding back tears, I was sure that the woman next to me thought I was whylin’. Adding to the fact that our first encounter was her brushing two potato chips from the chair beside me on to the floor, inadvertently stepping on them, and then seeing that the source of said potato chips was an open ziploc in my backpack — her perceived judgment was nothing new.

For four years I called Pensacola, Florida, my home.

Yes, you may know it from the oil spill. Or the Blue Angels. Or its beautiful beaches. I knew it because that’s where my aunt and uncle lived. I visited and worked there a few summers while I was in undergrad and received a job offer from the University of West Florida in my last semester. Wanting what every senior wanted — employment and an answer to the dreaded question ‘What are you doing when you graduate?’ — I gleefully accepted, with a sigh of relief. In July 2015, I left the Tar Heel State for the Upside of Florida and began my career as a Pensacolian.

AT FIRST, I hated it.

For the first two years, instead of making friends and exploring the community, I was planning my escape. Literally. I had a to-do list and archive of notes entitled ‘Escapé’ (a title intended to always be read in Dory’s voice).

Then I got involved. I made friends. I dug into why so many people never left.  I started to find where I belonged.

‘Pensacola has a poetry scene?! Bet! I’m in there.’

‘A chance to learn about the community and effect transformational change through Impact 100, AND it’s all women? Count me in!’

‘A music festival? Yes. On the beach?! Oh, hell yeah. With some dope young professionals? Bruhhhhh — let’s goooooooooooo.’

‘A drinking kickball league?! That was the whole reason I wanted to be an adult. Sign me up!*’

*RIP to my kickball career, which ended shortly after a hamstring injury in honor of my 24th birthday.

I also found a few places I did not belong,

which only sharpened my sense of self and grounded me further in a commitment to be authentic, embracing my quirks and unique approach to life.

And in doing so, I created my own little community of 🔥🔥🔥 individuals who fed my soul (and my belly — hello, Tacos and Cocktail Crew! 👋🏾)

However, the two things I struggled to find in Pensacola were a church home and #bae.

There were some futile and unfortunate attempts at both, more so for the latter than the former. And then I found Legacy House. The aforementioned kickball team was chock full of cool Christians, and we decided to church hop around town. After visiting a few that were lukewarm, the porridge was piping hot (as was the tea) at Legacy House.

You ever heard the phrase a kicked dog will holler? Or rather, your edges being snatched? Well I was a hollering, bald headed pooch after listening to my first message from Pastor Curtis Curry at Legacy House.

He touched on frustrations, feeling stuck, and complaining, which perfectly encapsulated what I was experiencing at that point in my life. *See aforementioned reference to places I did not belong.

I felt attacked. In a good way. Called out. Convicted.

I had spent so much time and energy complaining about my situation rather than going to God about it.

In God, I would have found contentment in my season.

In God, I would have found the belonging I so desperately yearned for.

In God, I would have found the love, hope and joy I felt was devoid from my life.

I took that week to reflect on the message and ponder these thoughts in my edgeless head.

Then, here I was, on the verge of being homeless, trying to find a new place in the week I had left in my old one — all in the midst of traveling out of town. I dove into the word and my devotionals, surrendering my frustrations, stress and anxiety to Him.

Every time I would worry, I fashioned it into a prayer and sent it on high.

I was anxiously waiting for this one place — a house in East Hill — but was the third applicant in the queue. I tried to bribe and charm my way to the top of the list, but the landlord insisted on a fair process, which I could appreciate (both for his integrity and for helping me check mine).

While in New York City, I received a phone call from him sharing that the first two applicants fell through and the place was mine if I wanted it.

This was five days before I had to move.

PRAISE GOD. 🙌🏾

Around this same time, I found a fine young fella continuously sliding in my DMs. (To be fair, I slid in his first 🤷🏾‍♀️). A few months later, I was a regular attendee at Legacy House with said fella by my side each Sunday.

Sounds like everything fell into place, right?

If you said yes, I have several recommendations for you of stories that end with happily ever after. This is not one of them.

While most of my life began to align, I continued to get frustrated. As I strove to put together my life's puzzle, some pieces would not fit. No matter how hard I tried to mash them in, it was clear they did not belong. That I did not belong. That this was not the place for me. I prayed to God for direction, asking Him to deliver me from this situation. To tell me how I needed to move. Every time I asked, I heard a voice in my bones telling me to quit my job.

But flesh told me to stay.

I talk to my parents about everything. And my aunt and uncle, who are like a second pair of parents to me. I told them that I felt my faith was calling me to quit my job. That God was asking me to rely on Him. But they told me I needed a job to get a job. They told me to stay and keep looking for opportunities. They told me that I needed a better plan and more preparation before I left. Flesh told me to keep my faith in flesh.

I continued to battle between these two, which I never thought would be at odds. I was raised in the church, my family and faith had always aligned. 

Live footage of major discomfort entering my life.

What started out as work I was passionate about and committed to turned into a going-through-the-motions kind of gig. I was living for the weekend. I was drinking every night. I was tired every morning, no matter how early I went to bed.

On my way to work, I drove over a bridge, and every day, I imagined myself going over.

Was I strong enough to swim to shore? Should I keep a floatie in my car? If I go over, I won’t have to go to work, maybe for a few days. I would be free.

This, ladies, gentlemen, and those who don’t identify along the gender binary, is what burnout looks like.

The Mayo Clinic defines job burnout as “a special type of work-related stress — a state of physical or emotional exhaustion that also involves a sense of reduced accomplishment and loss of personal identity.”

I didn’t need WebMD or the Mayo Clinic to tell me I was in an unhealthy place, but I also didn’t realize just how unhealthy it was.

Consequences of burnout include, but are not limited to —

• Excessive stress

• Fatigue

• Insomnia

• Sadness, anger or irritability

• Alcohol or substance misuse

• Heart disease

• High blood pressure

• Type 2 diabetes

• Vulnerability to illnesses

In January 2019, I left my job, and found myself in the wilderness.

No, I don’t mean lost on the nature trails out at UWF or living out my best Jane, bae of Tarzan, life. Brene Brown’s wilderness.

At the beginning of the year, Pastor Curtis started a four-part series entitled “Wild Horses.” In it, he shared that God gives us a word for every season. In that moment, I knew that mine was “wilderness.”

I was in the thick of the woods, and let me tell you — I ain’t no Boy Scout. Nor was I a Girl Scout. Nor had I ever been camping. I felt very ill-prepared. I had notions of solitude and vulnerability on this emotional, spiritual and physical quest. But I was not alone.

Coinciding with the series was an all women’s small group entitled H.O.T. For Christ. It never ceases to amaze me how God works in the details. How He plans out every step of His plan.

Humble, Obedient and Transparent.

I was humbled by stepping out into the wilderness, with no plan or next step outlined. In the wilderness, I found a sense of calm and relief, a direct result of my obedience and finally leaving that job. And my transparency? Well, that’s what you’re reading now.

God continued to humble me and show me the goodness of His grace, the goodness of a life obedient to Him, the goodness of a life with God.

I’m still in the wilderness,

but through it, I’ve learned a tremendous amount. I completely agree with Brene’s description of this place, with one caveat: it’s not about belonging so fully to yourself, it’s about belonging so fully to God that you’re willing to stand alone — against flesh, but with faith.

It’s about being a free spirit with a wild heart

because where the spirit of the Lord is there is freedom, and He has placed passion and fire inside each and every one of His children, calling us to live boldly, without fear or timidity, but with a wild heart.

So if you’ll remember, here I was, sitting outside of Gate 35 at DCA, fighting back an ugly cry.

I was moving. Leaving Pensacola, Florida, to relocate to Charlotte, North Carolina for a new job.

I was afraid. Terrified. I felt alone. And as usual when alone and afraid, I started to hear things. Voices. Unabashedly sharing their doubts, disbelief and confusion.  I sat there, surrounded by fear and only a comprehension of the finite — what I could see and understand.

God is so much larger than that.

What I did not see was that God answered my prayers. What I did not see was God delivering me from this situation I prayed to escape for years. What I did not see was that this deliverance happened to be to North Carolina.

I had expectations.

That when the time came, it would be a transition that I could comprehend. A change I could understand. A deliverance that I could see. But God doesn’t work within the confines of our comprehension. This is when faith comes in. Because if we could understand it, we wouldn’t need faith to believe it. If we could see it, we would be comfortable. And the wilderness does not exist in comfort zones.

I say all this to say, trust Him.

God was challenging me to re-root my faith in Him. To believe in the plans He has for me — plans to prosper and not to harm me, plans to give me hope and a future — versus the plans I had for myself, which fall short of anything He had in the works.

God was challenging me to remain agile, as survival in the wilderness requires. He was reminding me that He will always deliver what He promised. And while it may not meet my expectations, that’s quite alright because it often exceeds them.

God was challenging me to keep my faith in faith, not flesh — and He still is.

So I write this as a reminder to you, but also to myself — 

when doubt creeps in,

when flesh beckons for your attention

when it asks you to choose,

when you find yourself in the wilderness

— you are not alone.

Stay wild, child.

You were born to be.