an open letter to the pro-life movement

dear pro-life movement,

i’ve never been particularly involved in this fight of yours. i always figured i’d never fully agree with either side, one way or the other, so i took a comfy little seat on the sidelines and amused myself with…well, everything else. i ride this nebulous middle-line, because i just flat don’t want to get involved.

lately, however, i’ve done some thinking. i’ve been thinking about this complex issue, about the grey areas that fill it up to the brim. because, dear pro-lifers–and you pro-choicers, too–there are a lot of grey areas. oh, i know you don’t want to believe it. it’s a much easier issue to grapple with when it’s all neatly black & white, when you can relegate the other side to evil babykiller or insane religious freak, as the case may be. and i get that, the very human desire to make sure you are right, always. so that’s the first thing: grey. let’s acknowledge the grey areas here, how sometimes issues of financial insecurity, mental illness, and broken relationships can make this whole life thing very, very hard.

because, dear pro-life movement, i think you’re focusing on the wrong thing, to the complete exclusion of other very important things. i’ve seen so many emotional facebook posts & blog articles about this issue. some of them rely on shock value and disgust. they seem to think that if we put enough pictures of gore and blood (that may or may not be what it purports to be; i am a millennial, i have been using the internet my entire life, and i am anything but trusting of internet graphics), their cause will eventually be won by default.

others rely on pretty–and usually, equally fake–pictures of supposed “twelve week old fetuses” and the like. like their brethren, they assume that if enough infographics with all-caps letters and pictures are shown, they’ll eventually win. some just use a lot of words. and they’re okay, too. i mean their statistics are a little skewed (because let’s be real; if you’re going to show a graphic of a purported twelve-week fetus and then include plan b statistics, you’re being a bit ethically dishonest), but to err is human.

all of them, however, ignore the one element in the issue that i think could change everything: the women.

some of you don’t ignore them. some of you say terrible, horrible things about the women who get abortions. you make me sick, in case you were unsure about where i stand on that. stop saying horrible things about people on the internet. please. i beg. you’re not helping your cause, you’re not helping the people you’re talking about, and you’re definitely not helping jesus, so just stop. some people talk about how they would totally adopt the babies that come from those women, just to make it easier on them.

but you’re still ignoring them. you’re ignoring the reasons behind the choices that women make.

oh, it’s easy to simplify them. it’s better to live in poverty than to kill your unborn baby, you say.  but it’s hard to remember that when you’re living on the street, just lost your job, and you’re pregnant with the baby of your ex.

they chose to have sex so they just need to live with it, you say. and you ignore the women stuck in abusive relationships, unable to get out for fear of beatings, rapes, or worse. you ignore the women who thought they were safe–after all, they had their last baby just four months ago; they didn’t think it was possible to get pregnant again so soon and now they know beyond the shadow of a doubt that there’s no way they can do this. you ignore the women who were raped and now live with a being growing inside them that makes them physically sick, that traps them in a spiral of depression and fear and hatred.

and then there’s the others, the one- or two-percent who are forced through medical necessity to make the hardest decision any mother would have to face. their life is on the line. in some cases, their baby is already on death’s doorstep–all that is needed is the final birthing into death, because there’s no chance they’ll survive in the harsh realities of a world that requires lungs, heart, brain, to all be working.

and instead of sitting and listening, instead of attempting to understand how truly difficult these issues, these reasons can be….

you stand outside planned parenthood clinics and you shout at terrified young women about how they’re killing their babies, uncaring of what they’re there for (because if i had a dollar for every story of a woman who went into a clinic for a miscarriage, or because she couldn’t feel her baby move, or because she wanted to not get pregnant, and then got shouted at because she was a “killer”, i wouldn’t be living in a budget duplex). you hold up signs that proclaim that the death of a fetus is murder. you shout and execrate and blanket it all in the cross, as if that symbol of despair and grace somehow consecrates your actions. as if jesus would approve of your abuse of the widow and the orphan and the least of these.

and while you’re doing all of this, you’re missing the one thing that could put you out of an activism job. you’re missing your chance to do something, not just talk about doing something.

all of these issues, these reasons for why women get abortions, aren’t going to be solved by protesting outside planned parenthood. they’re not going to be solved by pushing for laws. they’re not going to be solved by shutting down every perceived avenue of escape that hopeless women have. the reasons will remain–every hopeless, awful one of them. and women will die. women will kill themselves, they will do unsafe things, they will languish in every bit of fear and agony possible.

we have to solve the reasons before we can hope to end the result.
we have to work to remove the societal need for such a thing as abortion.

that won’t be done in a legislature, no matter how stacked with “christian” lawmakers. it won’t be done in a picket line, or a pulpit, or even inside a church building. it will happen little by little, through community and the mess that is life.

americans are bad at community. real, living community, anyway. we’ve lost the tribal mentality, the knack of binding together, joining into life together. so we have to relearn it. because it’s the only thing that will solve the reasons given above.

we have to stop bad-mouthing young women when they come home pregnant and unwed, driving them away from what semblance of community we do have by foisting shame upon them. we have to stop dismissing mental illness as a phase or a spiritual attack or just an inability to try hard enough. we have to start meaningfully working to eliminate poverty in our communities, neighborhoods, cities. we have to be watchful for signs of abuse and instability in the relationships nearest us and have the courage to reach out.

we have to start living life with people, in all its messy wonder. not in a sanctimonious way. just simply living. you, dear pro-life movement, must be willing to do this. and it will be hard.

it’s become a cliche, but it’s no less true: raising a child takes a village. and sometimes, having one does, too.


all the good things

five year plans have never worked for me. maybe it’s because i’ve never downloaded some fancy template and filled it out–the one area, apparently, where my penchant for making spreadsheets hasn’t yet managed to make an impact. it’s a working theory, at least, but i don’t think it’s the correct one. no, i think the correct one is that jesus hates my five year plans.

the last few weeks at good news club, we’ve been talking about joseph, the dreamer boy who would grow up to be a man who would interpret the dreams of others and, eventually, save his people. through him, god preserved an entire race, and through it the ultimate redemption of all mankind. but before that very happy ending, he went through all hell. thrown into a pit by his brothers when they proved too squeamish to just kill him, then sold into slavery by those same brothers, ending up in a country far from home where he was enslaved for many long years. thrown into prison for a crime he didn’t do, forgotten by those who promised to remember him, and finally pulled from prison by a king with a frightening dream he couldn’t decipher.

like i said. hell. and i doubt, somehow, that this particular train of events featured anywhere in joseph’s plans, either. i don’t know precisely what joseph’s plans were, of course. but slavery doesn’t usually figure into anybody’s plan, so i think i’m on logical ground here. and yet, all of the good things that god had planned out and designed would come to pass. despite all the bad things, despite the road blocks & the road hard traveled, joseph would rise to a position of greater power than any other of his family until saul.

i’ve never been sold as a slave, or thrown into a pit. my brothers yell at me sometimes, granted, but that’s just because i make them clean up their room. as lives go, mine is v much better than joseph’s. yet i still sometimes feel as if my life is being railroaded, sent someplace i never intended or wanted it to go. every plan i make, for the most part, falls through. every internship, every ministry opportunity, every little step i try to take for myself or even for somebody else (even jesus) seems to inevitably just…wither away. and die. like all my dreams.

i’ve been thinking through it, though. and i realized something. the trip i would’ve taken to zambia in 2014, had events gone differently–had my plans not fallen through, and had i not switched churches because of it–would have prevented my meeting caleb. the internship i would’ve taken in wichita falls would’ve seen me four hours from home when i needed to be here, taking over good news clubs and meeting a boy. the internship in warrenton i wanted would have done the same. here i am, in the year of our lord 2016, with a husband & a baby & a life that isn’t going all that badly.

only we’re here again, with our plans that won’t quite seem to come together. jobs get turned down. our cars stop cooperating. our moving fund slowly but surely gets sapped away by various things–a new carseat, wisdom teeth, a tow truck. and i don’t know what’s happening, or why it’s happening. and i could fight against it. i could try desperately, in a million tiny ways, to assert my will again, to make it happen Right Now because i want it to…or i can trust. so i read the words of isaiah, and i trust.

for i know the plans i have for you, declares the lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.
//jeremiah 29:11

“come, everyone who thirsts,
come to the waters;
and he who has no money,
come, buy and eat!
come, buy wine and milk
without money and without price.
why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,
and your labor for that which does not satisfy?
listen diligently to me, and eat what is good,
and delight yourselves in rich food.

for my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways, declares the lord.
for as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.”
//isaiah 55:1-2; 8-9

all the good things are waiting for us. and they will come–just in time.

tickles & teeth

milo is getting a tooth. this is rather momentous news, at least all the grandmothers involved seem to think so, and despite the fact that it makes my life a veritable hell of fussiness and chewed-on fingers, i guess i’m happy about it, too. it could be worse, after all; she could not get any teeth at all, and then we’d be in trouble.

she’s also become quite fond of tickles, and other various things that make her laugh uproariously. a short list of such things would include tickles, belly raspberries, hair in her face, poultice application, sucking on daddy’s head, eating the couch pillows, playing with elephant & teddy & froggy & snail & jingle-bug (the kid has lots of family; it stands to reason she has a ton of toys, quiet)…and on the list goes. her laughs are kind of the best thing ever, though.


milo renae // feb 2016

every day, i find new reasons to be amazed at the presence of this tiny human. the other night, i couldn’t sleep. but she was in our bed, so naturally (after i ran out of candy crush lives), i spent a few minutes watching her–the way her eyes flutter as she dreams, the way her lips pucker with outgoing breath, the spasms of her little hands as she lifts them and drops them in concert to some unknown inner pattern. she is perfect. ten fingers, ten toes, two blue eyes–the color of the dark sky just as it begins to go dark–a little mouth, a gummy grin fast disappearing…a perfect little child.

it makes me think of another perfect child. probably because i’ve been doing far too much reading about the incarnation of christ lately. i’m reading two books actually, both of which i started to fill the facebook vacuum for lent, and in a strange appointment of providence, they’re about the same thing. the first is in christ alone by sinclair ferguson. the other is found in him by elyse fitzpatrick. both celebrate the glorious miracle of the incarnation, the beautiful power of the wondrous truth that jesus was truly & completely one of us, in every sense of the word.

this miracle makes me wonder, as i watch my baby’s dream-flutters, whether his mother did the same. how did she handle this god-child’s teething pains? how did she navigate the nights of sleeplessness, when one’s foremost instinct is probably to throw the nearest available object against the wall and pray it isn’t the baby?  as she tickled his belly and threw him in the air and slung him across her back, did she too marvel at the perfection of the tiny being she held? did she wonder where the god and the man would intersect, how this tiny baby would fulfill the angelic prophecy she’d been given?

i do know that jesus knew, just as milo will & does, the touch of a mother’s love. he, like milo, felt the pang of teething. knew what it is to be congested. laughed at ridiculous things. and that is amazing. god made flesh, a tiny helpless baby, one of us.

but mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart.
// luke 2:19

what’s wrong with millennials (and everybody else, too)


time cover // may 20, 2013

when time magazine first ran the above cover & companion article, all hell broke loose. you think i’m exaggerating: millennials everywhere were outraged, and some older folks too, and perhaps rightly so. after all, we’re hardly the first (or last) generation to be lazy, or entitled, or even vastly narcissistic. in all those respects, we are exactly like every other human generation that has ever graced planet earth.

but it turns out, the me-me-me complex isn’t the only thing infecting my generation. i don’t have a catchy title for it, either. it’s more just…a gut feeling. a feeling that we’re doing something very, very wrong.

there’s this growing idea–i see it a lot on the internet, mainly tumblr–that “toxic people” should be weeded completely out of one’s life. what a toxic person is, precisely, is entirely up to individual interpretation. sort of. there are definitely some set ideas about who is toxic: mainly those who are seen to be hateful towards others. when you get past that, though, the definition of toxic sort of…fragments. and it becomes all sorts of weird, mainly relating to how people make you “feel” and whether or not they pander to those feelings.

now before a bunch of outraged millennials get all up in my business and call me–in my fair turn–“toxic” and just misunderstanding of their/our communal oppression, let me give a word of clarification. those people are, indeed toxic. you are toxic. i am toxic. in fact, every person who was ever born or ever will be is, without a doubt, toxic. we are incapable of giving 100% to any relationship, entirely bereft of pure feelings towards anyone besides ourselves, and utterly independent of goodness. because, incredibly, all of us are human and all of us have a soul-deep problem that we can’t do anything to get rid of.

therefore, just as sin came into the world through one man,
and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned.
// romans 5:12

so if you feel as if you grew up with a toxic parent, or all your friends are becoming increasingly problematic, and all of this is making you want to do things about it, you’re precisely right. you’re just misdiagnosing the problem. it’s not some unique assholery that infects only them, it’s not a grand scheme to make you, and you specifically, as absolutely miserable as possible. they are, quite simply, human. and you are, too.

in consequence of this, every single human relationship you will ever embark upon will be fatally flawed. humanity has a problem that infects every aspect of life. because of sin, we have created for ourselves a whole host of problems: slavery, famine, poverty, illnesses, war. we are our own destruction, and every single thing we touch will be destroyed eventually. it is a cosmic, species-wide testament to the power of entropy.

i’m reading a wonderful book by elyse fitzpatrick at the moment, and she puts it this way.

Adam and Eve drank from the poisonous cup of autonomy and independence. They ate and fell. They fell from their blessed communion with the Lord and were banished from the beautiful garden he had created for them. They fell also from blessed union with each other. God’s image in them was shattered (though not completely obliterated), and in that shattering every relationship within the race of men would thereafter be marred. On our own, we would never know the “oneness” we all long for.*

toxic, flawed human relationships teach us one thing that is incredibly useful, at least. they highlight for us the impossibility of wholeness on our own, or even wholeness in community with others. just as the law shows us the reality and depth of sin within ourselves (rom 7:1), and just as adam was a picture of the messiah who would come (rom 5:14), human relationships hint towards the only relationship that is whole and completely beneficial: the one that connects us to god himself. in fact, not only do our flawed relationships point forward to this ultimate one, but even our own spirits, the whole world, testify to this truth.

for the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of
god… and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of
the spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons,
the redemption of our bodies.
//romans 8:19, 23

all of creation knows that something is missing. it waits, it groans (v27) in its desire for the one bit of knowledge that reconciles all things to their creator. and it is this, i believe, that makes us long for relationship, for community. despite the toxicity we know to be present, despite worst fears and all evidence, humanity bands together. we, just as the rest of the universe, search desperately in every moment for the Something that we know will sustain us…despite every failure, every breakdown of the things we touch.

and the best news is, of course, that the Something is there. it is god, and he draws us, calling us to communion with and unity in him. while everything we touches tends to failure–even our attempts to “deserve” him, or even other humans–everything he sets out to do cannot fail to succeed. and the greatest success has already occurred.

for if, because of one man’s trespass, death reigned through that one
man, much more
will those who receive the abundance of grace and the
free gift of righteousness reign
in life through the one man jesus christ.
//romans 5:17

*elyse m. fitzpatrick, found in him (Crossway, 2013), p32

i am a bread machine // foodie adventures

we eat lots of bread. way too much bread, actually. which is, understandably, a bit of an issue all by itself. but you know, this entire experiment isn’t completely & totally about actually being healthy…more just…eating still-bad-for-us food that i can fool my brain into thinking is good-for-us food. yay adulthood!

it turns out, most of the recipes people choose to post on the internet for plain white bread involve a bread machine at some point. and i don’t own a bread machine. i’m not sure why i would own a bread machine, to be honest. or where i would put if it, if i did. so for now, i will remain a human bread machine. (i’m okay with that.)

homemade bread smells amazing, too, by the way. like. dude.


i used this recipe as a base, though i traded out the lard for oil. might try shortening next time. i have a personal bias against buying lard. it doesn’t sound edible, to be honest.

and hey, look. it’s pretty!


and god knew

both our cars gave out, either partially or completely, within a matter of days. a job application we’d been depending on for a move got turned down. a baby got sick, a hiccup in the middle of a busy week. it’s been a crazy kind of week.

and honestly, despite the assurances of people around me, it’s hard to depend on simple facts like god is always present or god loves always or there’s a plan in all things. you know. i’m just not feeling it.

incidentally, though, i’ve also been reading my bible semi-regularly since the beginning of the year. i’ve been using a plan that came built into my esv app, and it’s been pretty great to be honest. i started into exodus just a few days ago (which has been great, since we just finished studying through exodus in church a couple months ago), and today i remembered a verse i’d come across.

god saw the people of israel—and god knew.
//ex 2:24

as royally upsetting as this past week has been, it doesn’t hold a candle to the context of this verse. to jog your memory: in exodus chapter two, the israelites are practical slaves in egypt. the former protection they enjoyed–joseph being second in command to pharaoh–has ended, and in its place has come a system of servitude. they are restricted by law to certain professions, forced to build the expansive monuments and public buildings of the people they are living among. not only that, but the egyptians have begun to fear a takeover by this population of outsiders, and in consequence have become only harsher, to the point of slaughtering thousands of babies as they are born.

and in the middle of this, there are three simple words. into this vacuum of hopelessness, of death & despair, come three monosyllabic words to convey an amazing, earth-shattering message.

and god knew.

i’m not being held as a slave. i’m not in danger of bearing a bouncing baby boy and having him carted off to be fed to crocodiles. i’m not even in any imminent danger of being taken advantage of by anyone. unless you count a used car salesman. but even then, i fully trust my husband and mechanic to know what a good deal is and isn’t. no, i’m a regular humdrum american who occasionally has a few issues. a few issues that feel really tremendously big when i’m looking at how much money i don’t have and contemplating how we’re going to get out of it.

and god knew.

those three words are comforting. as tiny as they are, they convey something tremendously important. in this jumble of here-and-now, when i feel like nobody’s paying attention, when i stare at the balance on my bank account hoping that somehow, some way, it’ll end up a few digits longer or higher or bigger, when i wake up in the middle of the night–again–and remember that i have to be at work early and this tiny human really isn’t cooperating…still, god knows. god knows, and as romans 8:28 promises, all things will work out for good.

god sees the crazy. and he knows.

all that real food

google is a dangerous place. it’s like quicksand (which, incidentally, was not as big a threat as my childhood prepared me for). you start out searching for an organic, whole-food beef stew seasoning recipe, and then before you know it, you’ve got twenty recipes for everything ranging from homemade bread to yogurt to chili seasoning saved in your browser. i have a problem.

but hey, since i have all of these fun new recipes saved, i decided i needed to sit down and actually think about implementing some new things. for one thing, half of our diet–give or take–is made up of kraft mac & cheese and expensive breakfast cereal. give or take. more than give or take, actually. those are just straight facts. and i don’t like them. so, like i said, we’re going to take a shot at actual real food living.

we used to make granola when i was a kid. i remember eating yogurt parfaits where the yogurt & the granola had both been made in our kitchen from organic ingredients, and the fruit was fresh & juicy. i have some (probably grandiose) dreams of recreating these memories for my daughter. and, the way i see it, it’s easier to start now than later. when she’s three. and addicted to captain crunch.

so i began our foray last night, with homemade granola. i used this basic recipe, though i ended up adding extra oil & honey. i think i’ll reduce the honey & brown sugar next time; it was a teensy bit too sweet for my taste. i used dried cranberries & walnuts this time, and i’m anticipating being able to leave them out next time and try it with fresh fruit & yogurt next time!

2016-02-08 17.47.09

tl;dr: kyla has gone off the deep end and decided to make food from scratch more often than not. what am i even thinking.

taking the idea & running

this weekend, i attended a local meeting for the IF: gathering seminar. before this weekend–or, rather, two weeks before this weekend–i had no idea what if even was. but the church plant we’re involved with was holding a gathering, and i like angie, so i figured i’d travel the hour south. besides, they gave us a bed to sleep in & there was free food involved. precisely 65% of my life is chasing the free food. not even joking.


//borrowed from the if: gathering website

it was pretty nice. as you might know, i’m kind of in love with jesus. i like talking about jesus. and thinking about jesus. and geeking out about jesus. i just really, really like jesus. so getting to sit for eight hours or so and listen to other people talk about how much they, too, love jesus was stellar. most of the weekend centered around the book of john, which is quite arguably my favorite book of the bible. it is, at the very least, my favorite gospel. i have a lot of favorites, okay?

anyway. about halfway through this morning, one of the speakers–i forget who, so don’t press me–said this. (i’m paraphrasing. don’t even.)

we can get so caught up in the idea of following jesus that
we forget to 
actually follow jesus.

and in that moment, i was like ….yes.

see, i am a dreamer. a very pragmatic dreamer, which is a fun mix that doesn’t usually work out very well for me. i have a lot of Ideas and Plans and many of them involve doing things for jesus. oh, they’re good things. they’re just also things that involve me, getting a lot of attention & acclaim & free stuff. because i am human, and selfish, and a little bit high on myself. but in the midst of this, i get caught up in this grand idea of following jesus. in my head, doing things for jesus becomes this Big Thing, way out there someplace, where i will finally come into myself. or something.

and then it falls apart. because, as with most things, our ideas about what the future will look like–even if we get what we want–are very, very different from the reality.

in the midst of my dreams about becoming a christian sensation because of my youtube channel or my book or my blog or my amazing mom talents, i can miss the little things that are actually following jesus. i revel in grandiose dreams of the amazing star my daughter is going to be and spend my time researching learning regimens on the internet rather than actually engaging with my five month old and, like, celebrating the fact that she has two eyes and an adorable, drooly grin. i dream of being sought out for my amazing talents at, like, being a wife & a homemaker, and inevitably the actual, day-to-day grind of being those things falls to the wayside.

i’m so enamored with my visions of what following jesus could look like–all for my own gain, of course–that i lose the little things. i lose actually living to the glory of god. and i don’t think that’s a good thing. i want to learn to be fully present where i am, following jesus with all of me. so here’s to tomorrow. may it be fuller than today.

i have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.
//phil 4:11

memory trainwrecks

every day, facebook gives me a chance to look back at all the things i said on that particular day in years past. this sounds fun. i’m sure in five years, when i’m looking at the skinny little girl running around the house who won’t sit still to snuggle anymore, i’ll heartily enjoy this.

i just, you know, won’t scroll past 2013. because beyond that, my facebook turns into this weird, otherworldly land of really…really…weird things.

i can map all my Phases. there’s the initial one, where i can see all the innocence dripping from every syllable i post. i say innocence: i was still a little rabble-rousing butthead. but a rather conservative one. then there comes the an-cap phase, where i decided it was hella cool to say we didn’t need a government. i was cute. there are others, too: all the fundraising i did so i could go on missions trips. there’s pictures from children’s ministries institute…and on and on it goes.

sometimes i wish i could excise bits of all of that. selectively delete entire genres of posts, just so that i never have to see them five years from now, and i won’t have to worry about scrolling down into the half-contemplated talking points about how rational people are, deep down, and that if we just dismantled the government, all would be well. i was a weirdo, and part of me doesn’t want anyone besides those of us who already know to realize i was that much of a weirdo.

i suppose that’s part of growing up. recognizing that our past was a trainwreck and, as bad of a trainwreck as it may have been, we can only go up from here.


the ache starts low in my stomach. it’s persistent, almost painful in its intensity. it travels, squeezing my heart with longing. it ends in my throat, threatening tears. it ambushes me in the oddest places–when i’m traveling home from work and i see a plane dwindling into nothing above & when i head toward the tiny town ten minutes away and the prairie, very briefly, opens up around me & when i read stories of places far away.

suddenly, inexplicably, i wish myself on that plane & i wish i could keep going, going, driving until i can’t drive anymore, until i run into a river or an ocean or some sight worth seeing. i wish myself into these stories of places far away. i wish i were standing on a bridge across thames & i wish i were climbing the steps of a mayan pyramid & i wish i was staring down on a crowded street in bangalore.

we said goodbye to my husband’s family this past week. they got on a plane and flew back to their sometimes-home. they live in luanshya, zambia: a place you’ve never heard of and probably never will again. they flew away and i miss them. i miss them because they miss us, and most of all i miss the sense of going away. i miss the wandering, the constant search for Elsewhere.

oh, i am happy. i am happy here in my comfortable home, in the eight-hundred square feet of sheetrock & paint & mismatched furniture we’ve gathered about ourselves–ourselves: me, my love, the tiny human god for some reason decided we’d be good caretakers of. i smile, i laugh, i love internet & wi-fi & processed cheese & central heat & all the trappings of things that are mine. yet the ache still starts, low in my stomach, and i can’t stop it from traveling because deep inside me, the rest of me longs to follow it.

i am a creature of wandering. and i know there is some poetic symbolism i could draw through this: i am a creature of wandering as my savior was, and something deep in me knows that i will never lose this itch, this urge to Go until i find myself in the place i will never need to go away from….

but for now, all i have is this ache, this longing to be somewhere i am not, to see things i likely never will.

or maybe i will. i have hopes of someday being really rich & only kind of old, so we’ll see how that goes.