You must realize that in all reality you need both
I am going to work a job in just a few days. I momentarily entertained the idea that I might be throwing away a chance to trade all this suburbia traffic for a never-ending string of purple Appalachia sunrises and sultry Southern Piedmont afternoons, and I fell. Two thoughts come to mind: "Never second-guess yourself", and "To everything there is a season". I have a good friend to thank for that second thought. She encouraged me to read the Book of Ecclesiastes (from which I also took away the quip "Vanity of vanities. All is vanity [or transitory and fleeting]") after my two-year walkabout. Let me describe a bit of what these last two years have been like:
I traveled the greater portion of California's central coast, including Bakersfield (Ah, "When we first laid eyes on the San Joaquin it was like a friend we always knew. The gates swung open so far and wide even God could drive through" ). San Luis Obispo, Santa Maria, Lompoc, Santa Barbara, Ventura, Camarillo, Thousand Oaks, Malibu, even some of El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Angeles de Porciúncula, with its Mayan Moroni gleaming in the dusty sunlight (The LDS Temple is the only place I visited when I went to that city. Turns out I don't like L.A. too much). It was hazy and dry in the daytime, with enough visibility to offer an expansive view of the golden hills, but also hidden enough to inspire your wanderlust. The drive along the 101 between Santa Barbara and Gaviota Rock is green, dreamy, and calls you to roam like nothing else I've ever experienced. The drive up the 58 towards Tehachapi from Bakersfield, the same, but drier and rougher. Rolling cattle hills as far as the eye can see.
These last two years have been an adventure. I have loved every second it, whether in tears of joy or of pain. But it feels like another life, a thousand years in the past. It has changed me in every way. It has allowed me to look upon the human face with the same love and purity with which I view the great green countryside. I need to tell you how my heart leapt when I saw you -- oh Charlotte land with your great green forests and mirror-like lakes reflecting the golden sun pouring through your congratulatory clouds of victory.
Not in entire forgetfulness
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory we come
From God, who is our home
I am going to work a job in just a few days. I momentarily entertained the idea that I might be throwing away a chance to trade all this suburbia traffic for a never-ending string of purple Appalachia sunrises and sultry Southern Piedmont afternoons, and I fell. Two thoughts come to mind: "Never second-guess yourself", and "To everything there is a season". I have a good friend to thank for that second thought. She encouraged me to read the Book of Ecclesiastes (from which I also took away the quip "Vanity of vanities. All is vanity [or transitory and fleeting]") after my two-year walkabout. Let me describe a bit of what these last two years have been like:
I traveled the greater portion of California's central coast, including Bakersfield (Ah, "When we first laid eyes on the San Joaquin it was like a friend we always knew. The gates swung open so far and wide even God could drive through" ). San Luis Obispo, Santa Maria, Lompoc, Santa Barbara, Ventura, Camarillo, Thousand Oaks, Malibu, even some of El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Angeles de Porciúncula, with its Mayan Moroni gleaming in the dusty sunlight (The LDS Temple is the only place I visited when I went to that city. Turns out I don't like L.A. too much). It was hazy and dry in the daytime, with enough visibility to offer an expansive view of the golden hills, but also hidden enough to inspire your wanderlust. The drive along the 101 between Santa Barbara and Gaviota Rock is green, dreamy, and calls you to roam like nothing else I've ever experienced. The drive up the 58 towards Tehachapi from Bakersfield, the same, but drier and rougher. Rolling cattle hills as far as the eye can see.
These last two years have been an adventure. I have loved every second it, whether in tears of joy or of pain. But it feels like another life, a thousand years in the past. It has changed me in every way. It has allowed me to look upon the human face with the same love and purity with which I view the great green countryside. I need to tell you how my heart leapt when I saw you -- oh Charlotte land with your great green forests and mirror-like lakes reflecting the golden sun pouring through your congratulatory clouds of victory.
Not in entire forgetfulness
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory we come
From God, who is our home
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