I read a story today about a man who walks the highways and byways of America, handing out Bibles and introducing people to the Good News of Jesus Christ. He works for food and for money to buy Bibles. I don’t even know if it was a fiction or non-fiction piece, but I cannot get it out of my mind.
You see, I have this recurring dream. Sometimes even a waking dream. It always hovers nearby, waiting to spring to mind whenever all the THINGS around me start to close in.
Foxes have dens, and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.
I have about five places to lay my head. Why?
All who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will suffer persecution.
I got a funny look when I mentioned Jesus today. Somehow, I don’t think that’s what Paul meant.
When did I ever get so many things? I’ve collected too many things and too many names for things. They cling to me like fine clothes that will never come back in style. So many rituals, so many checkmarks, so much self-justification.
If I have died to the world, why am I so hemmed in by walls of death? Will I ever have the faith to break free? To stop clinging to what is behind, to press on towards the goal?
I am haunted by the itinerant life.
Fumbling towards Eternity,