Their minds and hearts drift back so readily to Galilee–to friends, family, loved ones and labors of love.
For the traveling is exhausting and drains the passion of purpose. Going from town to town, the folks they encounter are able to treat them as strangers, leaping to establish tribal superiority and regional domination. So there’s always a little bit of loneliness creeping into the corners of swelling doubt.
It threatens to extinguish the desire to speak peace to the perishing.
Each night they gather by the fire at the end of the day. Yes, devoted. But devoid of energetic will, not wanting to be too close to me.
After all, I am the teacher.
I am the messenger.
I am the reason, beckoning them from their safe memories of normalcy.
So in deference to their need for privacy, I excuse myself from the common fellowship. They require an opportunity to reminisce together, question their calling without condemnation, and whisper wishes across the embers.
I have a place I go.
After all, I have my own memories of childhood.
I, too, have a family that misunderstands my meaning. In that private space, I speak to God. He’s a good listener. Honestly, He doesn’t often contribute or elaborate, but in His own way, He helps me to clear my thoughts.
By the time I return, my brethren are asleep. I try to do so myself. Morning will soon be here.
Another day of wandering.
Another chance to fail.
And oh, yes–another opportunity to see the world born again.