in. between.


I want to put a few changes of clothes in a suitcase and drive until I see something I don’t recognize. I want to be stopped in my tracks by the sand of the desert in Arizona, or maybe by the way the Appalachians look from the bottom of a green valley. I want to hear the restlessness of the ocean and see palm trees on the side of the highway. I want to be in a fishbowl of buildings so tall the sky looks tiny. I want to be knee deep in snow.

I want to go to an airport with a carry on and soak in the completely transitory nature of it all. I want to see people coming and going with stories. I want to eat overpriced skittles on a molded plastic chair, read a book, and listen to hipster music with headphones in one ear. I want to walk a tarmac and see the patches of Oklahoma spread out under me and grow painfully small. I want to ache in that homesick way, while tingling in my fingertips with the promise of everything being made new again.

I want to exit an airport in a muggy haze surrounded by people who don’t speak English. I want to wear a knit hat to keep the rain off my head, and I want to feel the equatorial sun on my shoulders.

I want to be barefoot in ground that gives gently beneath my toes and makes me feel as though I’m absorbing the entire universe.

I want to just drive. I’ve said it, but I want to. I want to find a place where the swelling, swilling motion of the Oh Hellos CD fits with the world around me. I want to stop at a hotel in the middle of nowhere and drink soda out of a plastic cup and an ice bucket.

It’s wanderlust, and I’m almost embarrassed by it. It makes me feel simple and cliché and predictable.

I want this to be a new adventure, instead of the same old one. I want to be done with the plans and the job security and the responsibility. I want to sing John Lennon with flowers in my hair, and dance to Carly Rae Jepsen with the windows down.

There’s nothing new under the sun, and I know that, but I want to feel it. I want the indignation of things being the same amidst the new. But I want the new. I want to have no choice other than looking up from the screen of my phone and falling in love with God all over again.

I want to go looking for Him. I don’t want to be found by Him, I want to find Him.

Everything inside of me knows how ridiculous this is. To have been found by God is more gift than I can bear. But I’m wishing for an existential crisis to send me away. My heart feels open enough to contain the vast spread of the globe, and it feels claustrophobic with the hugeness of every piece of this life I’ve lived already.

“prone to wander, Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love”

And I see it, I see how my burn it to the ground mentality has taken so much already. I see that You want me to be faithful, for once. To shoulder the hard instead of trashing it. I’d wake up in hut in a third world country if You asked me to. I’ve told You that. I’ve asked for that.

It’s harder to love You here.


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