I pick this word sojourner and it sounds good to me. Some days it feels too spiritual, some days I want to laugh at just how perfectly it describes my life.
I’m never home. Always pitching a tent somewhere, never completely settled.
I am a sojourner. This is who I am.
But sometimes, I am so very reluctant. Reluctant to play the roles given to me—wife, mother, friend. Reluctant to seek the Kingdom first. Reluctant to bow my head in humility. Reluctant to get too comfortable. Reluctant toward pain. Reluctant, this week, to Mother’s Day.
I hear the strings of the old hymn, Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, and every time without fail it stirs me.
I know my place.
O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
I know I am the wanderer. I am the one who leaves. I am the one promised with a forever betrothal.
I bind my wrist with this promise. I keep it there to remember, to remind me in the drifts of doubt, despair, pride, longing…
I am Gomer, the unfaithful Israel—the forgetful, the hesitant, the reluctant sojourner.
I am the Redeemed, the Bought, the Paid For.
I am the Chosen One, the Royal Priesthood, the Bride.
And still I forget, because I am reluctant. I am still on my journey home.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.