It’s a whisper, optimistic, but tinged with regret. Where my faith is going these next few months … where I am going with my faith, he cannot come. Or maybe he doesn’t want to come. Either way, he isn’t coming.
We both know it, of course, but have been slow to acknowledge it.
Part of me doesn’t want to go if I can’t take him with me, just as a part of him doesn’t want me to go anywhere he can’t come. But this other part – the stronger part – doesn’t just have to go, or need to go, but wants to go.
It’s come down to this before, and I swore up and down I would never decide this way again. Then I get to this place once again, and I realize that I’m not satisfied here – that’s why I decided what I decided before, and that’s why I’m deciding this now.
I cannot stay in the same places. I have to move and grow. And I don’t just mean physically; in fact, physical movement is pretty low on the move and grow list at the moment. I have to move and grow spiritually, intellectually, and emotionally. It’s wanderlust, and it runs deep in me.
And he doesn’t have it. But he understands it in me. That’s why he says, “Wrestle well,” and he knows that I will. And that’s why they’re his parting words.