A Land Named "Promise".

There's a calling deep within me. I know it is Your voice.

Upward. Onward. Forward.

But faith seems to lack impetuosity. Trusting enough to wait? Well, where's the adventure in that.

So, I'm just hanging up pictures of my Egypt all across this room. Mesmerized by how life appears to have been. No, it didn't flow with milk or honey, but you can't see that in these portraits. I'm remembering the good things in this life just past gone, looking at the map with hungry eyes of fantasy. You know, familiar things are never easy to discard.

You're calling me to another land, one You say is named "Promised". But I can't see it now. I don't have the map to there. And, God, see my pictures? Yes, I think I'd prefer that.

Why not, God? Why can't I have the comfortable? I fit here because I've sat here so long. Look, it's formed to me. I have a place to belong. I've carved it with care, even if it is a rut.

But the postcard from that land sent to myself for here and now writes of chains and sweat and bricks without straw.

I'm starting to remember now…

The future is incredibly unknown. I want to go back.

So would You grant the trust to see more of You than I do of leaving? Permit me eyes that see more to this road than sand.