Eternal Wanderer

Pausing, the haggard wanderer hooked his gnarled staff in the crook of his arm, pulling a hefty tome from his waist where it had been chained; he opened it, making a few marks. He did not have a pencil or pen; instead, he used the cracked fingernail of his index finger as a nib and his blood for ink. Once he completed the note, he closed the book and dropped it back to his side. There is no more time to pause as his feet automatically continue his trudge. Muttering to himself, he sings worship songs, prayers, and supplication to his God. Though he has no quarter or home, nowhere to knock the dust from his callused feet or rest his heavy head, he does know his God. The dense forests, high mountains, deep valleys, and seas pass all the same as he passes. As everything erodes, the wanderer remains.

Passing upon this endless winding trek, those he meets upon the road avert their eyes without realizing why; they gloss over him as though he were another mundane piece of scenery. This is his curse. Try as he might to gain their attention, they did not interact with him. The pride that set him along this path had long since dissolved from him, vaporous as morning dew beneath the sun. This curse was his just punishment from God. He had been warned, told that death crouched at his door, yet he did not heed it. His mind often reflected upon the sins of his past. He had slain his brother in a fit of jealousy; even after a millennium, he could still feel the weight of the stone in his hands and hear the crack of bone. The ground had opened up to receive the blood he spilled.

Death would have been too merciful for the wander, but in his darkest moments, he had prayed death would come. But those moments were few and far between. Other times, he recorded things he had witnessed throughout history. He would write poetry and verse praising God and the merciful hand he was dealt. The wanderer keenly felt God’s presence within his creation. In a way, toiling in the fields to produce fruit seemed little work compared to this endless road without respite. But, all was recorded within his endless pages, endless stories to tell.

The wanderer also witnessed, with great trembling, the wrath of God upon the darkness– judgment of falling walls, raining sulfur, and flame. He recorded it all the same: the blessings and the curses. Occasionally, his loneliness was broken by an angelic voice directing his feet one way or another. The wanderer observed pillars of flame, unfathomable depths, and grand mountaintops in those times. At the end of this world’s time, he found himself standing at the precipice of the lake of fire. He stared at the face of the second death and faced his choice.

Would he continue his walk, being God’s wanderer and witnessing his actions upon the world, or would he succumb to this second death? Before the wandering had chosen evil and disobedience, the second death would mean eternal separation from the God he had come to love. He decided on the endless walk, moving forward into the time beyond. At that moment, he witnessed the foundations of a new world as they were lain.

Surveying this new world with curiosity, what would it hold? What miracles and marvels would God create? How would these new seeds of humanity sprout? Would they yield more abundant faith and obedience than this current generation? The wanderer would witness it, chronicling it as he went. Though the road is difficult and ever-winding, he knows God’s will is sovereign. From that moment on, the wanderer could not lament his situation: this was his chosen future, the eternal wanderer of God.