Staring at maps, US and globe.

Lusting to wander, not so much an idol sense.

Just a daydreamer trapped by 9-5.

Keys sending digital imprints to eternity and they wander so carelessly at times.  Why can’t my feet do the same?

Responsibility.  An American dream.  What dream is this?  You are bound by bills and appeasement.

It works for the routine-lover, but the nomad sighs and dies.

Dying to self because this sacrifice lets friends and family live their dreams.  Is this staying somehow holy? My soul thirsts and crushes.

If I were to venture, would I find the key’s hole and the secret to paradise on earth?

Your kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.

What would heaven look like if reflected in earth’s pools, tears shed for neighbor, our joys, and our sorrows?  Could we in stretching our boundaries, stretch glory?

Then again, if I crossed to greener pastures would they be wet with morning dew or baked brown in the desert’s abyss?  Is trotting the globe really going to satisfy this duress?

In staying, I’m vulnerable.  Could the desire to roam be self-protective?  If so, is this edifying the body, the lamb?

I’ll never truly know.

To gallivant I’d have to forsake static and then I might miss the sweet aroma of family gathered at a holiday feast.

Perhaps it isn’t the other side of the world that my heart longs for, but the ebbing of turmoil this side of earth.

Maybe just maybe, I’m meant to always lust for the wander.  I’m not home yet and this world can’t offer that. In gratitude I’ll stay with this fellowship and seek how to best quench this yearning; and in silent moments utter thanks resembling contentment.


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