Itch

"It's easy to be brave from a safe distance" (Aesop).

I am a huge fan of the road trip, and no matter where I have lived, I've piled up the miles in search of people and place. I will eat bread and cheese, bathe in rivers, and sleep in tents to be able to afford that extra tank of gas to get me to that desired destination of discovery. I've been accused of having "itchy feet" , and I'm not going to deny it. Truth is, I would rather spend a weekend out...

My road trips have changed with every move. My friends in Ireland used to joke that I knew the country better than they did, and I used to joke in return that the government needed to build a bridge to Britain soon because I was running out of Irish road trip possibilities. Even now, living in America's west, there is so much to see within a day's drive. To the north, I can walk the sacred spaces of the Black Hills or smell sulfur as it belches from the earth at Yellowstone. To the east, I can camp on an open prairie while listening to the music of coyotes and dream of a time when buffalo roamed freely. To the south, I can explore dwellings of ancient civilizations and hear storytellers recount epic tales of the wild west. To the west, I can traverse mythological landscapes of painted red and carved stone that defy man's imagination. In my own backyard, the Rockies reach to just over 14,000 feet and provide numerous opportunities hiking, camping, and seeing wildlife.

It's all so close.

(Well, close if you live here.)

When I lived in Indiana, I only dreamed about the places I get to see on a regular basis now. What used to cost me precious vacation days now can be explored on weekends or long evenings with very little cost at all. Living in close proximity has its advantages. I have enjoyed this opportunity to live "close".

I lived "close" in Ireland, enjoying people and place, delighting in the history and culture of the people I found myself in the midst of. I couldn't get enough of the place (and I still can't), but I suppose that's perfectly normal for a missionary called out of his home to make a new home in another culture. I might have itchy feet, but I think it's a holy itch.

I can't really explain it, but I think it's important for us to get to know what (and who) is near us, to get a sense of it all, and listen for the whispers of God. For many of us though, I wonder if we are too afraid to wander from the familiar. We keep to ourselves and make up our minds that the distance is too great, the cost is too dear, and the danger is too real.

Instead, we only dream of other places and people. We convince ourselves that "here" is best, and -- with an added dose of cynicism -- we can easily talk ourselves into a position of self-imposed superiority. Before long, we find ease in casting judgment on entire groups while confidently preaching from our pulpit made of distance. Such is the path of rigorous nationalism, rampant fundamentalism, or pompous egotism.

It's quite a different perspective when you get close.

The way I see it, we could use a few more people with the holy itch and willingness to wander away from where we're used to hanging our hat. Missionaries are made of such people, but even the journey to the neighbor's front door -- for some -- might be the trip of a lifetime. Even the greatest of all road trips begins with walking out your own front door.