In the course of my 'normal life', I spend a fair amount of time planning, preparing and anticipating. So it would be natural, I thought, to get my head around the medium- and long-term. That isn't what has happened. One of the most surprising things about this adventure is how quickly my outlook shrank to the here-and-now of every present moment. Perspective vanished as I became immersed in each day's journey. This surprise was a welcome one, as it revealed how much I tend to live in my head, pre-occupied with what hasn't yet happened, forgetful of where I am.
But this last weekend I've noticed my attention beginning to focus more and more on the future. Revisiting the very familiar people and places of Wolverhampton has reminded me of my origins and confirmed the extent to which I've changed or remained the same.
As I walked the towpath of the Wyrley and Essington Canal, from Wednesfield towards Walsall, I felt a deepening of an ache that has grown in recent days.
Somewhere within me I've experienced a vague, unfocussed feeling that's hard to describe. None of the words that I've come up with are adequate but they point towards it: yearning, compassion, a kind of melancholic longing.
I prayed for some clearer sense of meaning and slowly came to realise that I am in touch once again with vocation - that mysterious, haunting, irresistable pull that has drawn me along the road with God these past twenty years.
I should point out that none of this was depressing or discouraging. Quite the contrary, I had the sense of being energised, filled with holy discontent, counselled by the wild and free Spirit of God. It's a call I've known before, away from convenient spirituality to something more at the edge.
(continues in Part Two)
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