Sunday, August 26, 2012

"You know I often think I am adventurous, and then I hear stories like that one..." she says with awe, hearing another story of another young man, who got on a bus for San Francisco. He was just 17, he had lost his home, and he was an orphan. 

I often write of my need to travel, my longing for adventure, my urge to go. I move, I roam, I journey out of restlessness in my soul, longing to soak up every tiny bit of life. Still, there are so many that move, that roam, that journey with literal hunger. My metaphors are shallow in the wake of their actual need. I roam searching for a place my heart can call home and they move searching for a roof, a chance, a meal with another meal to follow.

I am humbled by their bravery, while the city I live in creates laws to prevent them from sleeping in the doorways and loitering the streets. I hope to never loose sight of the liberty I have to travel and the urgency of their displacement. I hope that I always chose to have a place for the alien in my midst. I hope I am forever grateful that my life has offered me freedom, and I hope am alway generous with that gift.

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