You can run away, thinking you know what’s best, turn to this, that, and the other to quench the burning in your breast.
But as Thompson said: none there are who would shelter thee who would not shelter Me.
So run away if you must–fast and far on the wings of the morn–but this of a surety you can trust:
Watching and waiting I will be…
Turn but towards home, and you will see:
Flying over fields to you, my son, daughter, friend
Because in the end, I’m the God Who ran