The Wanderer

I am but a nomad
I've not one house called "home"
I wander through a desert trail
With no place to call my own
Not 'gypsy', 'pikee', or 'yonk'
Thrusting slander on my name
Why look at me so differently -
I've done nothing to bring shame
My people love the road, you see
It whispers tales of old
Legends of a promised land
The streets paved with gold
My new steps tell a story
Of adventure and of dreams
Each new face reminds us
All is not what it seems
It's easy to keep separate
Never settling in one place
The challenge is to learn to live
With ample amounts of grace
We travel through destruction
We travel through disease
We learn to rest upon the one
Who brings us to our knees

Butterflies inside

..."go and sleep and plot and work out a way of being brave..."

The last thing my aunt said to me, at 2:30am this morning.
Even just that word, 'brave', makes me feel funny inside. I am not very brave. But I love that she is rooting for me. Prodding me forward.
Being brave always involved a risk. But I haven't yet learnt that taking a risk is the best thing one can do.

I need to learn this

I should always be the first to apologise.
That is what God just said to me.

I've learnt that pride is painful, but humility covers everything.