When the Answer is No
-Acts 16:6-7, KJV
I would happily step foot on a plane, believing that it would belly-flop through the mist and scream onto the rainy tarmac of the Edinburgh airport. I would love to see my wife's face on her passport, as we fell asleep in those uncomfortable seats in the dark at thirty thousand feet, knowing that we would soon be in the company of friends. Knowing that we could lend a hand and breathe the air of Dundee and be amazed at what the Lord is doing there. But, for the moment, it is not so.
I know that a fair portion of my desire to step foot into that country again is not so that I may lend my hands to the work. I love the countryside, the people, the sound and smell. I've recently wondered what it would be like to live there permanently. But I am not at peace about it. Everywhere I turn though, little wisps of memory turn my mind toward the windy shores of that land.
We had lost the skill to read,
A part of our past disinherited;
But fumbled, like a blind man,
Along the fingertips of instinct.
-A Lost Tradition, John Montague
I am guilty of jealousy toward those whose plane tickets and itineraries are planned and paid for. I don't know if I'll ever go back, but I hope to. However, as Kat and I look to our domestic shores and the streets of our own Knoxville, there is much work to be done.