After making the decision to travel, I was no stranger to this question. (We’re actually quite good friends now. Easily at the best-friend-bracelet stage). Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame those who asked/objected/questioned my sanity. I did the same thing myself.

After all, I had a really good thing going in Columbus. I was working a job I loved with a crew that became my second family. These were the people that taught me all I know, challenged me to keep learning and never cheat myself by stagnating in this industry, remembered my birthday and my coffee order. These people knew me.

I had found a church family that had become my third family (bring on the families!). These people split at the seams with their love for Jesus and their desire to know Him and share Him better. My life was woven into theirs, stitching together some beautiful relationships only a good-gift-giving Father could ordain.  They noticed when I was gone and embraced me warmly when I returned. These people knew me.

I had an apartment. I had a cat. If I had stuck around (and my friends had had their way), I might have even found myself a man.

Life was stinkin’ good.

So, why did I do it? Why did I leave it all behind?

I think I can answer the question best by answering with a poem.  This particular poem perfectly captures the heart of the “why”. Some people may read and still not really know the answer, which is fine. They’ll fill in the blank with something that’s probably true: to make more money, to travel the country, to seek a new place to make a permanent home, and so on. However, to choose one or all really doesn’t fully encapsulate the wholeness of the answer, the quiet, sweet contentment that has settled within me. So, I leave you with the words of an author, who holds a piece of my heart-real-estate and, as it would seem, knows why I did it.

“Roads Go Ever On” by J.R.R Tolkien 

Roads go ever ever on,
Over rock and under tree,
By caves where never sun has shone,
By streams that never find the sea;
Over snow by winter sown,
And through the merry flowers of June,
Over grass and over stone,
And under mountains in the moon.

Roads go ever ever on,
Under cloud and under star.
Yet feet that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar.
Eyes that fire and sword have seen,
And horror in the halls of stone
Look at last on meadows green,
And trees and hills they long have known.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with weary feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

The Road goes ever on and on
Out from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone.
Let others follow, if they can!
Let them a journey new begin.
But I at last with weary feet
Will turn towards the lighted inn,
My evening-rest and sleep to meet.”

 

 

 

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