Born to Be a Nomad

April 30, 1945 

               Today I was born to be a nomad. Well, today I was born—left one world and place and came to another. Different food, different bed. New sounds, sights, smells, tastes and touches. The only thing the same is my mother’s calming voice and the city noises of Chicago, Illinois.

                Today a madman died, one who killed children. Adolf Hitler was not a nomad—simply mad, at the world, at himself. And he had no calming voice. But he did leave one world behind and entered another, so I guess he ended up a nomad. Yet today the only voices he hears are the millions of those he murdered.

                So what exactly is a nomad? It’s someone on a journey, moving from place to place, looking for their next home, always seeking a country and place to call their own. A nomad’s home has no boundaries or walls, only people to love. So it’s important if you’re a nomad to have good strong relationships. That’s something a nomad looks for…always.

                Long ago a man named Abraham was a nomad. He didn’t know where he was going. First he traveled with his dad to a place called Haran and stayed their til his dad died. Then, because God told him to, he picked up all that he owned and kept on moving, over and over again. He would eventually settle in a place later called Canaan. But Canaan didn’t even exist when Abraham was moving over and over. The world then had no boundaries. Just people traveling from place to place, living and settling in places they could name and call their own.

                OK, so  there’s Hitler, Abraham and me—all nomads in different ways. Read on  to see if you can figure out the end of my nomadic journey, which will mirror Abraham’s more than Hitler’s. You can follow by email when you subscribe at the right.