News Ticker


There are two kinds of people in the world.  Wanderers and planters.

Planters are the good, steady, rock-solid people who live in the same house for 35 years.  They have the same cars and keep the same jobs–no matter how miserable or uncomfortable.  Planters are stubborn, consistent, wise.  They dig their roots down where they are, even when the soil is rocky and hard to dig into for long.  The only time planters move is when their roots are torn up, from natural or unnatural forces.  They stay, willing the roots to heal, injuring, causing pain as they try and regain their place.  Often a planter whose roots are torn up won’t survive.  All their sources of nourishment are from their roots, their consistency and dependable natures.  If they do survive its because they cut the dead roots and learn to move around without them for a time until they can dig in again, maybe not so deep this time.  But planters often long for the newness, the passion, the fear of the unknown but to do this they have to cut into their very being. This is me.

Wanderers love freedom.  They roam around, seeing everything, taking it all in; scoffing at staying in the same place for long.  The look in a wanderer’s eyes is like a sunrise and sunset.  A new place shows light in their eyes as they explore, meeting new people and finding new revelations about themselves and life in the newness.  And then…the light begins to fade, the sun begins to set. The light in their eyes begins to fade as they fall out of love with “here”.  The affection they felt for this place begins to chaff…causing irritation and a straining at things that hold the wanderer here.  Nothing will remedy but change.  So wanderers go on a new quest, are filled with a new purpose, and bid adieu without a backward glance.  But Wanderers have a longing and emptiness they can’t ever fill. They blame it on not finding the perfect place or people but their feet and their hearts are not on the same side, they are opposing forces never making peace. This is you.

My roots are broken.  Your feet are bruised.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: