I am a wanderer--though not by choice.

When I was much younger (in High School), I used to dream of traveling the world, visiting exotic places, and experiencing all sorts of phenomenal things. As I grew older and stumbled into a career that was, in itself, a childhood dream, I found myself longing for stability. Not too long after that I was married, owned a home, connected with a church community that was both a spiritual home and a circle of friends.

I had achieved the stability I longed for.

Until it all fell apart. My marriage dissolved (literally and canonically), I sold my home, and I pulled up the roots I had spent years building and moved to a different state. Now, four years later, I live in a phantom zone somewhere between two states (half in Washington and half in Illinois), I work in an industry that doesn't even remotely resemble the one that fueled my imagination, and I rent an apartment (which is pretty much like lighting money on fire on the 1st of every month).

My journey these few years has been painful, joyful, and all points in between. Despite the sturm and drang (or because of it), I have learned a great deal about surrender and dying to my own wants and needs. From this dying has come an amazing amount of freedom--freedom that comes from knowing the love of Christ and being led, sometimes gently and sometimes kicking and screaming, along the path to my own cross.

As a young kid who dreamed of following the song of the road, the words of Christ in the gospels "Take up your cross, deny yourself and follow me" never made much sense. But I have been crucified, by my own choices and by the random chaos of life itself. I have died, and I have risen again. Each time, I come to know my God more--and discover my true self. And each time, I struggle a little less against the nails that pierce my hands and feet.

There is, in some strange way, a kind of joy that comes from embracing a cross, from surrendering to the death that brings renewed life. For me, this dying began when the waters of baptism closed over my head and I went into the tomb with Christ so that I could rise again a new creation. It has shaped and hewn the trajectory of my earthly life, and it has been a precious gift, a pearl of great price.

I still long for roots, for stability, for the kind of life that travels along a known and well-trod path.

God, however, seems to have other ideas.

And so I am at war with myself. With my God. I am restless. There is another cross here. I can see it in the distance. In the midst of this struggle, Christ calls me to "be still and know that I am God," to rest in Him. It will only be in this silence, this stillness of being, that I can truly hear His voice.

The time is drawing near for me to climb up on my cross.

To die.

To rise.

To live!