So many thoughts going through my head right now. Like how we saw Stonehenge today. Like how tomorrow we head to Ireland. Like how I’m super bad (and behind) at this whole blogging thing.

Yesterday we decided to take a much needed down day. Six weeks straight of travel — though awesome — isn’t sheer bliss. I’m not going to lie, I miss my bed. I miss lazy Saturdays. I may even miss the mundane of going to work (what?!). So we spent a good half of yesterday crouching over our own devices on the bottom bunk of our muggy hostel room bed.

Stifling heat forced us outside later that afternoon. We walked and talked for hours along the side of a picturesque canal that ran through town. Like most good conversations, ours was full of tangents, thought-provoking theories and tough topics that eventually led me to admit this:

A lot of people say they grow closer to God in their trials, but if anything, I feel further away from Him. I feel like I’m supposed to be learning something, but what? When I pray for answers or direction, I feel like I get silence. And frankly, if God doesn’t want to talk to me, I don’t want to talk to Him either.

It’s not something I’m proud of, or even something I want to admit. But in the shadows, in those weak moments, it’s where my thoughts go.

Fast forward a few hours later. I stumble across this:

An amazing, humbling story in and of itself. But minute 5:15? Meant for me.

My faith isn’t perfect. There’s a lot I don’t know or understand. But I do believe God exists. I believe He wants what’s best for me. And even though I get impatient, I know He knows better than me.

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