About
One evening Harold decided to go for a walk in the moonlight. But there wasn't any moon, and Harold needed a moon for a walk in the moonlight. Fortunately, he had brought his purple crayon. So he drew a moon. He also needed something to walk on. So he drew a path...
“Human beings do not live forever, Reuven. We live less time than it takes to blink an eye, if we measure our lives against eternity. So it may be asked what value is there to a human life. There is so much pain in the world. What does it mean to have to suffer so much pain if our lives are nothing more than the blink of an eye?” He paused again, his eyes misty now, then went on. “I learned a long time ago, Reuven, that a blink of an eye in itself is nothing. But the eye that blinks, that is something. The span of life is nothing. But the man who lives that span, he is something. He can fill that span with meaning, so its quality is immeasurable though its quantity may be insignificant. Do you understand what I am saying? A man must fill his life with meaning, meaning is not automatically given to life. It is hard work to fill one’s life with meaning. That I do not think you understand yet. A life filled with meaning is worthy of rest. I want to be worthy of rest when I am no longer here. Do you understand what I am saying?”
-Chaim Potok “The Chosen”
I lived in my car last summer and traveled across this country to be consumed in the beautiful of Him. I was alone. I ate cold, canned ravioli and more canned beans than I ever dreamed possible. I went without a lot of things, and baths were rare. I slept on the ground, in the dirt, on park benches, in abandoned parking lots, on top of mountains, in the rain, with more animals than humans around me and never doubted whose hand was on me. Over 6500 miles were worn onto my tires; I saw few familiar faces and heard even fewer familiar voices; my days held sights and sounds and smells that were new to me.
But I always felt at home.
I drove a giant circle that brought me back to where I call home; to the place my family of friends lives; to the place I know more intimately than any place I ever saw this summer.
And being back, I feel more isolated than ever. This does not feel like home. A job and a home do not feel like freedom. The things I have surrounding me do not feel like living. The few changes of clothes in my pack and the tent I used as shelter were more freedom than all the open land in Mississippi could ever make me feel. I feel trapped by the things we have created in our minds to be what matters in life.
O God, lead me back to the wilderness! There is a song that is sung that I long to crawl inside and listen to as its repeating waves wash me to sleep in a sea of all consuming You.
It's time to get back in my car.
In the words of T.S. Eliot:
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
“Human beings do not live forever, Reuven. We live less time than it takes to blink an eye, if we measure our lives against eternity. So it may be asked what value is there to a human life. There is so much pain in the world. What does it mean to have to suffer so much pain if our lives are nothing more than the blink of an eye?” He paused again, his eyes misty now, then went on. “I learned a long time ago, Reuven, that a blink of an eye in itself is nothing. But the eye that blinks, that is something. The span of life is nothing. But the man who lives that span, he is something. He can fill that span with meaning, so its quality is immeasurable though its quantity may be insignificant. Do you understand what I am saying? A man must fill his life with meaning, meaning is not automatically given to life. It is hard work to fill one’s life with meaning. That I do not think you understand yet. A life filled with meaning is worthy of rest. I want to be worthy of rest when I am no longer here. Do you understand what I am saying?”
-Chaim Potok “The Chosen”
I lived in my car last summer and traveled across this country to be consumed in the beautiful of Him. I was alone. I ate cold, canned ravioli and more canned beans than I ever dreamed possible. I went without a lot of things, and baths were rare. I slept on the ground, in the dirt, on park benches, in abandoned parking lots, on top of mountains, in the rain, with more animals than humans around me and never doubted whose hand was on me. Over 6500 miles were worn onto my tires; I saw few familiar faces and heard even fewer familiar voices; my days held sights and sounds and smells that were new to me.
But I always felt at home.
I drove a giant circle that brought me back to where I call home; to the place my family of friends lives; to the place I know more intimately than any place I ever saw this summer.
And being back, I feel more isolated than ever. This does not feel like home. A job and a home do not feel like freedom. The things I have surrounding me do not feel like living. The few changes of clothes in my pack and the tent I used as shelter were more freedom than all the open land in Mississippi could ever make me feel. I feel trapped by the things we have created in our minds to be what matters in life.
O God, lead me back to the wilderness! There is a song that is sung that I long to crawl inside and listen to as its repeating waves wash me to sleep in a sea of all consuming You.
It's time to get back in my car.
In the words of T.S. Eliot:
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
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