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It’s 7:15 AM on a November morning; my family and I are in the car, all our worldly possessions in tow. My siblings are asleep. Daddy and Mama are talking quietly in the front of the van. The gentle murmur of their voices sounds just like it used to so many years ago. The sun has not risen yet—all is darkness. I write these words by the faint glow emanating from the display of my MP3 player. The road is highway 46 West. Before we left, Juanita and Deloras gave us each a handmade comforter. I have mine tucked around my legs. My cloak is wrapped around Traveler Behr, and a few other things. On top of this sits my journal with its worn blue cover. The lights of a smallish town flash silently by, as in a dream, strangely bright in the smooth, cool surface of the night. Barely perceptible clouds drift across the deep blue sky, blotting out the fading stars. The road has left the town and now winds through silent trees and fields. A road sign blinks past, “45 miles to Terra Haute” In Terra Haute we will join the great interstate highway 70 leading the way to Denver. The purple majesty of the sky by my window is fading and towards the horizon a band of dusty rose speaks of hope, of coming daybreak. The rose color, I know, is stronger in the East. But I’m facing, not east, but West, West to the land of adventure and promise, West towards my native land, West towards my heart’s homeland. West following the early pioneers. I am at a cross roads and I have chosen the Westward road. We will not face frostbite and starvation, save perhaps in our broken relationships. Nor will we find a dessert wasteland, save only in the hearts of those we have neglected. But we will find new opportunity, opportunity for learning and loving… new horizons. We have left many dear friends, and I have left a piece of my heart with each of them. Yet one thing we have not and cannot leave behind; we have lived, learnt, loved, and grown for three long years. Amid the swampy muck and mire of Indiana we have found many treasures; Treasure of love, fellowship, and faith; Treasure found often only in adversity. These treasures, like seeds, will grow and teach us to love one another. They will comfort us and support our weary hearts. For “He that goes forth and weeps, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing a bountiful harvest with him.”





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