Six Months Later…

I’ll never forget my last two days in Africa. Almost getting arrested at the Lesotho border because of expired visas. Then, almost getting abducted an hour later. And, to top it all off, spending our final moments in Johannesburg roller skating. What a fever dream it all was. Before we knew it, we were on our way to the airport for the last time. The squad had been scattered for most of the month, so reuniting with everyone was a blast, though we all knew the final goodbye was just around the corner.

As I checked in my backpack, I realized the next time I saw it, it would be in my homeland. Security was a breeze—probably because our gate had private security, given the size of the flight to the States. Everyone could tell I was excited to get on that plane, especially when jumping up and down and skipping through the boarding bridge. And even more excited knowing I’d get to sit by my plane buddies one last time…Lianne Tuin and Sam Valverde. That is, until we found out our seats were at the back of the section, right by the wall. That meant no reclining at all. Seventeen hours at a 90-degree angle. But we were still excited—our adventure was coming to a close, and nothing could ruin that.

Landing in the U.S. felt completely surreal. I can’t even describe the emotional rush as the plane touched down. The last time I was on a Delta plane, it was taking me away from the States. But this time, it brought me home.

We had a few days of rest at the base where it all started. And then we had our final week of ministry at a Young Life camp in Georgia. We helped prepare the camp for the students who would be arriving in the summer. What struck me most was working alongside college students, where we learned how to evangelize and live a life of ministry in the States. We definitely looked different than them, but it highlighted how much we’d changed over the last nine months.

On my 19th birthday, I got to celebrate with my squad! The night before, I discovered that Kenny Chesney and Zac Brown Band would be performing in Atlanta ON MY BIRTHDAY. So, in true Team Abide fashion, we scrambled to get last-minute tickets and ended up spending the evening at Mercedes-Benz Stadium. Nothing like a sold-out country concert in a massive stadium to kick off life back in the States. We also took a field trip to a Braves game a few days later. Country concerts and baseball games—Go America.

Our final evening together was emotional. We had a banquet to reflect on the year and celebrate completing the race. It was one last meal, one last worship session. We hardly slept that night, trying to soak in every last moment with the people we’d shared this incredible journey with. A few hours later, I woke up to pack my tent and backpack for the last time. We cleaned up the camp and said our goodbyes to those whose parents had arrived to pick them up. That goodbye was one of the hardest moments I’ve ever experienced.

I was part of the group flying home, so I had my second round of goodbyes at the airport. We split at the different airlines, but I had a few in the Delta wing with me. I couldn’t believe my boarding pass said New Orleans, and that it didn’t match anyone else’s. As we got on the train to bring us to the terminals, someone I loved got off at every stop, and by the time I reached my gate, I was down to just one travel buddy, Hannah. She walked me to my gate since I was taking off first and out of nowhere, my mom appeared. She had flown up that morning just to make sure I wasn’t flying home alone. It was the first time in nine months that someone was there to take care of me, and I didn’t have to worry about a thing. It was a comfort I hadn’t realized I missed so much.

The flight was a blur. The moment we landed, both of us were in tears. I couldn’t believe I was finally home. The familiar sound of jazz music filled the air as I walked through the MSY airport, and there, waiting for me by baggage claim, were my dad and sisters. I couldn’t stop laughing as my dad carried my backpack through the airport. It was such a simple, yet meaningful moment. When we loaded the bag into my car and headed down the causeway, it finally hit me: I was part of a family again.

I had done it.
I had officially “won the race.”
And most importantly, I never gave up.