As we walk,
The grass bends beneath our feet,
The stars whisper secrets we do not understand,
And the wind beckons us towards something.
What is it? We don't know, but keep walking south.
South toward good days with plenty, in a pursuit of peaceful nights, with good men, and fulfilled dreams.
We walk this desert in hope of escaping this conflict we were born into,
in order to find rebirth through those coming after us and from us.
So we walk.
Walking against the grains of sand, looking for better days, with better way.
Such is the nature of our journey.
We swim in a sea of uncertainty, praying not to drown.
Capturing every moment so that it will not be forgotten, so our story can one day be told.
We appreciate cuts and bruises along our way so that even when we grow old they will tell of our journey.
I turn towards my wife who carries our unborn child, and I tell her, "We will name her 'our hope'."
And she will know how we gave up our discomfort for her sake, how her presence brought us a state of determination and stubbornness.
How she gave us hope.
When she is young she will see our well worn feet disfigured by distance and hellish conditions.
She will ask in astonishment, "What, happened?"
And we will tell her of our journey.
But she will see but not understand that we carry the weight of the past in our feet.
That our walk is still heavy and are days are always long.
Yet eventually she will see Him through our suffering, because even though our trials are not as great, our feet are like his hands and feet, they are an image of sacrifice.
