I left a good job. I had a title, stability, and a clear sense of success in the eyes of the world. But deep down, I felt God was asking me to step out of the boat. The problem was—He didn’t tell me where to step. Just… out.
So I did what anyone with a restless soul and too many journals would do: I made a list of ideas. Twenty or so. Coaching. Teaching. Nonprofit work. Startups. Travel. Some made sense. Most didn’t. One in particular kept stirring my heart: a faith-rooted travel brand. Story-driven. Soul-shaping. Discipleship on the road. It felt both obvious and insane. Beautiful, but wildly unrealistic.
I couldn’t shake it.
Still, I wrestled. How do you turn a dream like that into something real? How do you share it without sounding like you’re just trying to “build a platform”? I’ve never liked self-promotion. In fact, I despise it. I can’t even take a selfie without internally cringing and hearing an inner voice cry out, “Loser!” But there’s a quiet difference between making yourself the point and pointing people to something bigger. I’m learning that tension.
Some nights I lie awake, running numbers and questioning my judgment. How much time is this taking? How do we fund this? What if it flops? God’s answer, every time: “Trust.” Not “here’s the five-year roadmap,” not “you’ve got this,” just “Trust Me.” Trust that He’s weaving something good, even when I can’t see it.
People might look at this and say, “Why not just go on a missions trip?” It’s a fair question. But my wife, Jordan, helped me see something deeper. Not every trip is about pouring out. Some are about filling up. Resetting. Realigning. Preparing to overflow again. The Road & The Way isn’t an escape—it’s a soul recalibration for the weary, the wondering, and those stuck in spiritual autopilot.
And it’s hard. Slower than I imagined. More stretching than I expected. But it’s also honest. Forming. Holy, in ways I didn’t anticipate.
I’m still figuring it out. Still building. Still doubting at times. But I believe God works through risk, not just results. Obedience often looks like walking into the fog with your hands open.
So I keep going. Not because I know how it ends, but because I know who’s leading the way.
