A journey beyond the desire for tradition.

Walking through the wasteland
Locked in a box.
A place where no one listens,
The hands stopped on the clock.
A place of quiet contentment
No one dares to rock the boat.
So, they go though the motions
Struggling to stay afloat.
Where new ideas are halted,
Since, no one wants to change.
The idealist feels assaulted,
Thought patterns, he can’t rearrange.
As he walks through the wasteland,
Desert sand stings his eyes.
He seeks guidance from God’s hand
Knowing in Him; comfort lies.
He must keep moving ahead.
He’s come too far to turn around.
A few more valleys he may tread
Before God’s lesson is found.
The idealist will certainly keep doing
What he knows is good and right,
Knowing one day the box will open
And endless ideas will take flight!

Just as you sent me into the world, I am sending them into the world.
John 17:18