The city of San Fran had left me weary and suffocated in March. My mind spun at night. Loneliness and coldness plagued my heart, so when the chance to attend a business trip and explore the roaming hills and lush green valleys of England and Ireland came around, I dove for it.
I thought that perhaps I could recover my joy in a land far away from munis, honking horns, and cough-inducing construction sites, a belief that fuels the “Eat Pray Love” mania among backpackers, adventurers, digital nomads, and weary marketing business employees that make the hopeful trek.
But all cities are the same.
The struggles of your heart are simply set in a more greener or busier backdrop, and when you lie on your pillow at night, out of view of the shops and lights, the crisis floods back. You come back to stone one.
No place on Earth will help me find my peace. While in the quieter and rural parts Ireland, I even had to confront my doubts, pains, and fears more because there was enough time and stillness for the internal frustrations to hurt more and to ring louder, now that the busyness of San Franciscan life were gone.
More downtrodden than ever, I only wanted to go back to San Francisco. For all my excitement and plans to escape from the hustle and bustle to Europe, all I wanted now was my bed in the Bay.
After a ten hour flight, I was home. And the sorrow, pain, and sheer confusion of questions unanswered and hopes failed flooded in, uninterrupted by any trip.
So I had to pray. I had to come to Him and admit that I did not know. Oh God, I did not know. That I was afraid of everything. That I did not know what I was living for. I did not know how to trust Him, people, or anything good in life. I had to tell Him I did not care about anything and that scared me more.
Then He swept in. And laid His Hand
on my heart and
on my head
in a way only He could.
Without words, planes or rolling hills,
I found peace…peace I did not find in Ireland…
the kind that can only be given by God
and not the world.