As the plane rounds onto the runway from the tarmac and the engines started to rev to full acceleration, it begins to hit me: I’m leaving America. In the past month, I haven’t had time to think or feel anything. It has felt so surreal. Saying goodbyes to friends hasn’t felt like long goodbyes, but more of the sort of goodbyes said before a long vacation. I want to come back to Portland, but I want to come back more confident, secure in myself, what I do, much more experienced, and having crafted my talents into something more extraordinary. I want to have stories to tell, knowing that I have lived this God-given life to the best of my abilities.
I don’t know where this journey will lead me, but I’m happy for that. We spend so much of our life looking for answers, for some direction and guidance — but my life has always been lived in the tension between doubt and faith. Of the two, I lean more on faith because it is more beautiful in the mystery it holds. Do I really want to know exactly what will happen to me in five years? Isn’t the surprise what makes it beautiful?
A Native Hill 
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