“All of life is a foreign country.”–Jack Kerouac
Been feeling restless as of late. Perhaps I’m still in World Race Missionary mode where I am used to going to another country monthly. But something inside of me just wants to strap on my pack and go as far as my thumb will take me. Don’t get me wrong: I like it here. It’s where I need to be in this season of my life. I love the culture, the people, and the growth I’ve been experiencing.
But something about being on the road fascinates me, attracts me. It’s part danger, part vulnerability, part pioneering… but really I think what I love about it is that it forces me to depend on God.
So much of being on the road makes you realize how small you are. I, my body, my experiences, my insecurities alone can not change people. As much as I wish that I was good enough to change the world, I can’t.
All I can do is pray, offer all of me, and trust in the mystery of God’s power.
Whenever I trust in God, know who I am, and do what I think is consistent with His character, something outside of myself happens.
I have seen community and family bloom from the shared vision of God’s love.
I’ve found words (that hardly sounded like mine) bring healing to broken hearts, while simultaneously healing parts of my own.
I have partaken in jam sessions in dumps and fits of laughter in hospital wards.
I’ve been made a big brother to orphans, a grandson to elderly strangers, and a part of guatemalan/romanian/thai/kenyan/cambodian families.
Even though I don’t have a whole lot of money, everything I own I can fit in a backpack, and I don’t have a “ministry” building, I have discovered the kingdom of God.
It is written in the hearts of people, in a foreign land, on the road to seek Him.