I am not what I once was.
I am not what I ought to be.
I am not what I want to be.
But by the grace of God, I am not what I will one day become.
For decades, I’ve drawn strength and reflection from these powerful words by John Newton. They became the theme of countless teaching sessions during our mission and leadership trips. Each week, they served as a lens through which every individual examined their own heart and calling. Separated from our usual routines, familiar faces, and daily responsibilities, these words became more than a mantra—they became the foundation of a second journey. Alongside the physical and purposeful adventure we were on, we were also being invited into an inner journey—one of soul-searching, growth, and grace.
The Dream
Recently, I awoke from a dream that felt as real as life itself. In it, I stood once again before a team of students I was leading—my heart full, my eyes brimming with both joy and a few tears of sorrow. But more than anything, there was a fire in my voice—shouts of purpose, energy, and calling. I had returned.
I am not what I once was.
The memoir I completed this summer was a celebration—of people, of moments, of mission. As I wrote, I found myself in awe. Every chapter, every story, every name brought back reminders of the challenges we faced together and the grace that carried us through. I saw lives changed. I saw faith lived out in bold, often unconventional ways. And in remembering, I felt the deep truth of God’s hand in it all.
I am not what I ought to be.
Somewhere along the way, I think I let myself believe the cultural lie—that growing older means stepping back, that retirement is the end of meaningful work. I forgot how powerful faith still is, how relevant it remains when paired with intentional living. I forgot the urgency. I forgot the dreams that still burn. The Ten Balloons taught us that each day holds both need and promise. And now I’m asking: What does it look like to live that truth in this moment, in this century?
I am not what I want to be.
I’ve always seen myself as a pioneer. Yet, being the introvert I am, I rarely shared the deeper parts—my true hopes, dreams, motivations, and purpose. And now, having just passed the average life expectancy of 76.1 years, I find that I’m still teaching, still coaching. It’s a different world now, a different time—but still a time that desperately needs dreamers, bold voices, and courageous decisions rooted in faith. So here I am, rethinking, retelling, and reimagining what it means to live faithfully. To live fully. Each and every day.
I am not what I will become someday—by the grace of God.
Since completing my memoir, my mind has been on a whirlwind journey. Writing essays has become my way of reflecting, of processing, of speaking truth. More truth than I ever thought I’d share. Each essay opens the door to fresh hope, new dreams, and an unexpected sense of excitement.
This new “hundred-day vision” feels bigger than I can grasp. The ideas, the open doors, the possibilities—some seem outrageous, even foolish by the world’s standards. They’re risky, bold, and far beyond the comfort zone. But I’m learning that my audience doesn’t need to be large. My mission doesn’t need to be universally accepted. My calling is to share the journey—to encourage both the young and the old—and to keep believing that God is still going before me.
If this message speaks to you today, I invite you to stay connected. For now, this blog will be my primary platform. And, as has often been the case in my life, I don’t yet know all the next steps.
But I’m walking forward anyway.
