Every once in a while, I get a bad case of wanderlust. There are so many places I’ve pinned to my “Bucket List” board – Reykjavik, Barcelona, Tuscany, Jeju, Paris, London, Auckland (yes, just for the Lord of the Rings tour)…
It’s easy to feel wildly uncool when so many of my millenial counterparts have already travelled to all of these places, while I’ve barely scratched the surface. I recall hanging onto every word of my friend’s account of her nomadic experiences – a couple years each in Mexico City, Hawaii, Seoul, and Sydney, not to mention her visits to Singapore, Colombia, El Salvador, and a dozen other countries.
I recently ran into another dear friend at a wedding, recently returned from a work trip to the Holy Land. While catching up, I was blown away by the fact that the woman I admire so much for all she’s done in her short twenty-four years, as a filmmaker and a person in general, had the same insecurities I did.
But it all changed for her in Nazareth, where she visited both the houses where Jesus and Mary grew up. As it turns out, they were only a stone’s throw away from each other. And, she realized that, apart from the time the Holy Family spent in Egypt as refugees (Matthew 2:13-18), Mary only ever lived in her hometown!
And if Mary – the Mother of God; Queen of Heaven and Earth; National Geographic’s “World’s Most Powerful Woman” – could be all that from her small, humble home, then it doesn’t matter who travels furthest or the most.
I am worth just as much from my tiny corner of California as I am exploring a Hobbit hole in New Zealand. So, while I still hope to be able to hop on a plane and see all these places with my own eyes one day, I’m content to be who I am, right here.