So I was walking the other day and my sandal tears in half ... darnit. I go to the Bata shoe store to pick up another pair of cheap slippers and decide to make a change to a flashy-looking blue pair with a red and white trim; the sole's even got some of those reflexology pressure point bumps that tickles when you walk. So I buy it, put in on and walk out. No sooner do I walk about 100 meters that I find that the straps are rubbing the skin right off the dorsal aspect of my feet. Ouch!
A couple of days of that torture, and I've had it. I go and buy the same pair that I wore before: A modest grey slipper with blue trim, 10 bucks, good to go. Feels great. Feels familiar. Why did I ever think that I could find anything better than the one I already had? How much more perfect could something be?
Those who have ears ... let them hear.
On the other hand, there is change. I got a hold of a Canada friend's web link to some of her pictures of the old London gang and my beloved home town. As I scanned through the pictures, old sights were seen and even old jokes replayed. I could almost smell what home was like and what the chatter would have been about. Then I realized one thing: I will never be home again - not in the same sense anyway. I've gone too far from the "Shire" and there's no turning back. Asia is home now, even if no previous acquaintances ever see me again. No more returning to that comfort of North American pleasure-seeking. No more competing to get into a program with hopes of becoming successful, settle down, buy and house and car, get married, have 2.5 kids, host dinner parties and go to the cottage during paid vacations. Nope.
Lord, let my blood be spilled on Asian soil to nourish a church that follows hard after you.