Love Abundantly Ministries

One year.

365 sunrises (okay, maybe a few I snoozed through).

525,600 minutes of stumbling, dancing, praying, questioning, laughing, and occasionally ugly-crying my way down a path lit by faith.

Twelve months ago, I slid my house keys across the counter to the new owners, waved goodbye to friends/family, kissed a stable paycheck goodbye, and whispered a prayer that sounded a lot like: “Okay, God…I hope You’ve got this.” I didn’t have a backup plan—just a suitcase full of faith, a simple “send me”, and a whole lot of questions.

Passenger Princess: Not as Cute as It Sounds

Walking away from a job, a steady paycheck, and sense of control? Yeah, it was terrifying! But I knew the voice I heard. And despite all modern logic, I followed it.

It’s been a wild ride of scary moments and surprising laughter. And honestly? I’m still figuring it out. One year ago, I packed my life into a few boxes, gave up the comfort I cultivated, and had enough faith to believe God had better GPS for my life than Google Maps. Following God’s lead has felt like both a peaceful stroll and a chaotic scavenger hunt.

Now don’t get me wrong—writing this now feels good, but trust me—the journey wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows (the beaches tried their best). Putting my house on the market without knowing where I was going? All because I heard the voice of God tell me to do so? That felt more like jumping off a cliff with no parachute. I don’t know how many people called me crazy. Quitting my job without a new one waiting added to the “what is she doing?” The uncertainty stretched me thin, made me doubt, and taught me this: faith isn’t just a feeling—it’s a decision you make—over and over—when the path ahead only makes sense to you. I trusted the voice I heard, knowing God’s way often defies natural reasoning. The peace I felt was one that I can’t even describe. I stepped into a free‑fall of faith where the safety net was invisible but undeniably there.

It’s been a wobbly waltz of miracles and missteps. Most of the time I felt like I was missing the entire plot. There was this constant shock that obedience can be equal parts terrifying and beautiful. The things God asked me to do weren’t part of some breezy “follow your dreams” montage—it was messy, emotional, and filled with long nights asking God if I’d completely lost it. Sometimes I sat there wondering if I misheard God entirely when it didn’t look like what I thought. The uncertainty was real, and it stretched me in ways I didn’t know I could bend. To go from owning a home, living by myself, making my own schedule-to a living with 20 girls in a community setting, not managing my schedule, and not operating in what I felt was my “calling.” I cried. I wrestled. I snapped. I felt alone. I laughed. I prayed. I pleaded. I was going through a breaking in what I thought was a breakthrough.

I say all this to reiterate that faith sounds beautiful on paper, but living it out meant sitting in the unknown, resisting the urge to figure everything out myself, and trusting that God wasn’t just present—He was preparing something I couldn’t see. Y’all, I truly thought arriving in Australia would be the big breakthrough moment. Instant community, like-minded purpose, and perfect Instagram posts about how wonderful missions are, right? Boy was I wrong.

Waking up and doing the next small thing God asked, with no roadmap in sight, became my normal. People would ask me my plan and I would respond “I don’t know.” Following God truly felt like a scavenger hunt with minimal clues, a compass that only pointed North, and befuddled vision. Clues that no one else could help me understand. One day a beautiful walk in the park. The next a muddled mess. All trying to to focus on the riddle in front of me. But, somewhere in between then and now I began to realize: even without a map, I am never truly lost. I hear Him. I did exactly what He asked me to do, and I will continue to that.

I realized surrender didn’t end at the handing over of the house keys, it became a day-to-day process of dying to my flesh. The ache didn’t disappear overnight. It took time and prayer. Learning to be content in discomfort has been one of the hardest lessons I’ve ever faced. And trust me, I have given a gallant effort toward hard lessons.

The Pause Was the Point

In true God fashion, just as I found my footing, settling into that day-to-day new rhythm, God called me back to the States—a pause I didn’t expect. I may have told people that I was coming home after 6 months, but in my heart I expected to stay in Australia for at least a year. I was disappointed, excited, scared, joyful. all of the things. The quiet days back in North Carolina I got to wrestle with the “why,” and reflect everything. The slowdown became a soul-check. It wasn’t a detour —it was a deepening. Helping me anchor areas that I had drifted in. A time for God to peel back layers of my striving and performance. A time to expose the self-reliance I had dressed up as faith. It was painful—isolating at times—but necessary. He wasn’t hitting the eject button. He was recalibrating me, and preparing me for more. That hidden classroom is where God reshaped my character, humbled my spirit, and reminded me that nothing I gave up is better than Him. He reminded me that obedience isn’t glamorous—it’s costly and quiet. I had to stop romanticizing what I gave up and actually start living in the surrender fully.

I’m still learning how to find peace in the tension, how to trust fully when it’s messy and confusing, and how to keep saying yes even when I want to say no. There are days I miss the familiar, the stable, the certain. There are days I want to quit (just ask anyone of my mentors how often that is a conversation)! But, I’m learning that what God askes of me I don’t want to escape.

Here I am—one year later— packing my bags with an oddly familiar mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. I find myself once again stepping into the unknown with faith as my compass, preparing to head out on another assignment— still just as dependent on God’s direction as I was twelve months ago. The excitement, the nerves, the “Am I really doing this, again?” thoughts— they’re all back, but so is the peace. This time, I’m walking forward not with expectations, but with openness. It’s not about reaching a destination for breakthrough—it’s about staying close to the Father. To know God and share His love to the world. This next assignment isn’t just another trip—it’s another invitation to trust. It might be short, but it is another step in a story still being written. Like Abraham, I’m learning first hand what it means to go by faith—not always knowing the destination, but trusting the One who calls me forward.

“By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place… and he went out, not knowing where he was going.” – Hebrews 11:8

Spoiler: I Still Don’t Have a Five-Year Plan

Soooooooo if you’re in an uncertain place—where the future’s foggy, and the next step feels shaky, or obedience feels like a lot of unknowns—I get it. You’re not alone. Sometimes faith looks like bold leaps (like selling your house). Sometimes it looks like staying steady in the stretch (like applying for a job that you feel unqualified for). But in all of it, He taught me to keep showing up in the heart ache. It’s only been a year since I took that trembling first step, and I see God’s fingerprints over my journey—the provision, the pruning, the pauses. I don’t have it all together. I still don’t have all the answers (and I probably never will), but I do know God is faithful in the waiting, present in the ache, and kind in the unfolding.  

If you’re wondering if you can really trust Him—let this be your reminder: yes, you can. I know the feeling well— when your heart pounds louder than His promises, and everything in you wants to cling to what’s safe and familiar, when saying yes feels more like losing everything than gaining something sacred. I promise you: it is worth it

The Plow, the Promise, and the Path Ahead

In the midst of my darkest night of the soul, God delivered the word to “Plow the Land.” Now He is whispering “Once your hand is to the plow, don’t look back” (as seen in Luke 9:62). I’m into the unknown—with no map of my making, minimal expectations, hand to the plow and the same faithful Guide. I don’t know what prayers I’ll whisper under starlit skies, what challenges I’ll face, what God will teach me, what is next or what stretching will come. But the same God who met me when I surrendered the house keys, who sat with me in the uncertainty, who carried me through the quiet refining, is already there. And that is enough for me.

The next time I write, it’ll be PNG. I’m sure I’ll still be asking questions, still wrestling, still trusting, but I’ll be doing it with a deeper yes. A quieter courage. A steadier faith. And I can’t wait to share it all with you!

Here’s to the map disappearing, and the God who never did!

Let’s go!