Rome, Italy. I would live in a little efficiency within walking distance of public transportation. I want to walk the Apian Way (part of it) and visit the catacombs where I would sit and listen to the voices of the Christians of another era.
Vatican City, where I would sit in the piazza and people watch after walking through the cathedral where I would lie on my back and look at the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel and wonder at the God depicted there-and the talent He gave humanity to paint such wonders.
Florence, Italy, again in the little efficiency, but I want to sit in the piazza where the David stands and marvel at the gifted artists, the beauty of the human form and leisurely savor coffee and biscotti.
Assisi, Italy, where I long to sit near Francis’s crypt and wonder at the man who would be aghast at what has been done there.
Greece, to visit the sites of some of the people and cities Paul wrote to, to drift back in time and experience these cities, even if artificially and in my imagination.
Israel to walk in the steps of Mary and Joseph-well, maybe to drive in them-to visit the places where Christ walked without a tour group and to be able to read the biblical record as I did it, and to fill my journal with what I learn.
India to visit the world of Amy Carmichael, with time to listen and to be still, or the northwestern area, where the Apostle Thomas is said to have spent time.
Russia to ride the train from Moscow to Siberia-to see and experience the journey of so many believers as they were sent off to the Gulag. I know the journey would be none at all like theirs, but to imagine the goodbyes the artists among them must have said as they soaked up all the images of beauty they might see before their living burial.
South Africa to visit the burial site of Steven Biko to say I am sorry that we in America stood by for so long without even praying for them.
I see I have chosen the impossible to write here, at least impossible now, perhaps to avoid the possible: the visit to the rescue mission where I say I want to serve food, the lost in the state hospital, lost in so many ways, and who all have stories to tell, the old people who could tell me about India and Italy and Russia. I need to find them here in my city, and it is too easy to say I have no time when in reality, I am too selfish and I do not even deserve to visit all of the other amazing places to think and to write about.
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