Did you do what you were supposed to do? It cannot be answered with words. It must be answered with your life. — All In by Mark Batterson

I’m new to Jewell County. It’s green here. The neighbor is mowing his yard and I can smell the damp, cut grass. Southern California was home for over three decades of my life. I left drought conditions and water limits for thunder that wakes me in the middle of the night.

From development stretching from the ocean to the desert--between metro Los Angeles and windy Palm Springs--to a town without a stoplight. It is a wonder to me that places like this still exist. Wonder is key to everything as I begin fresh here in rural Kansas.

Why am I here? How can I answer the quizzical looks of locals when they learn I’ve moved here from California. The answer is: I’m on a mission.

Moving here was my 20 seconds of crazy courage Batterson talks about in his book, All In. For me, it’s leaving the blah of overstimulation and busy-ness and sales and inaction. Moving here is burning the ships (eliminating a retreat to old habits or the past).

My answer to the question of did I do what I was supposed to do with my life would have been a somber and regretful no. I worked. I read the Bible completely through one plus times. I completed devotionals on my phone app. I wasn’t unhappy. I wasn’t without success. I wasn’t without joy. I wasn’t unloved.

But waste and fear, honestly, define my past. I was not connected. I was not connecting. I was not writing. I was not giving. I’ve never surrendered my life to God. To His purpose for my life. I’ve never given my life to His glory. I’ve never completely shown up, with honesty, to God. I never asked, “What do You want to do with my life?"

I don’t believe moving is necessary for change but I do believe I need to be here, in a small town, right now. This is where I’m supposed to be. So this is me, here, now, seeking.

There were fireflies the first hot, muggy evening home after driving halfway across the country. The very kind neighbor who teaches at the local school told me they call them lightning bugs here. I stretched out on a lounge chair in the back yard and watched the lightning bugs drift and float over the grass and up to the trees I don’t recognize and can’t yet name.

Wonder. The wonder of lightning bugs popping as the sun sets. The power in the small act of being awake and ready.