Where I Don’t Want to Go (and Why I Might Need to Go There Anyway)

When the world moves too fast to stand still, friendship and faith remind us where we’re meant to be

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There are places I don’t want to visit.
Not because they lack beauty—some are breathtaking.
But because they move too fast, too loud, and too far from anything that feels like home.

New York City comes to mind.

I don’t mean the Adirondacks or the long shadows of Winslow Homer’s painted hills. Not the quiet wild. I trust trees. I speak to rivers.
It’s the city itself—the never-sleeps, never-slows city. The hum that drowns out your own heartbeat.
The place where, if you stood still too long, you might be swept away and never find your footing again.

I felt it once in Hong Kong, back in the late 80s.
I stood on the edge of a crowded intersection. The light changed. The crowd surged. And without meaning to, I was lifted off my feet—literally carried by the tide of strangers across a street I hadn’t intended to cross.

That moment haunts me.
Because it wasn’t just a busy street. It was a parable.
A picture of how easy it is to be moved without choosing to move.
To be carried by culture, by fear, by speed—into a life you never meant to live.

That’s why I value friendship so much.
Because true friends don’t rush you.
They don’t sweep you off your feet.
They anchor you.

We ask, Why are we friends?
Because we give one another something sacred: value.
Not praise or flattery, but real value. The kind that recognizes something holy in each other. The kind that helps us remember who we are, and whose we are.

We don’t just give love.
We give our value.
That’s our why.

Some of my college students are afraid of cities.
They come from soft neighborhoods with clean lawns and safe fences. Their fear is about violence, uncertainty, the unknown.
And then some of my high school students live in that fear every day.
They walk through gunshots and sirens and the ache of survival—and still, they come to school.
Still, they show up.
Still, they hope.

They remind me:
The most dangerous place to be is not the city.
It’s outside the will of God.

You can be nestled in comfort and still be lost.
And you can be standing in a storm, in the center of chaos, and still be exactly where you are called to be.

Thornton Wilder once wrote:

“Without your wounds, where would your power be? …In Love’s service, only wounded soldiers can serve.”

And so I’ve stopped trying to avoid fear.
What I fear more is disobedience.
And comfort that numbs me into forgetting who I am.

So if you ask me where I never want to go, here’s my answer:
Anywhere God is not leading.
Even if it looks safe.
Even if it’s quiet.
Even if everyone else is going there.

Let the sidewalks rush past.
Let the world blur by.
If I move, let it be because I am walking with Him—not because I’ve been swept away by the crowd.

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What I Am Still Pondering Is:

• I’ve had moments where I was carried by something other than God’s voice—by urgency, by culture, by fear. Have you felt that, too?
• I think often about the people who’ve anchored me in grace. Who are yours?
• I still ask myself: Is this fear holding me back? Or is this obedience calling me forward? Maybe you’ve asked that, too.

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