As the President has indicated, my life has been a life of

The words of John Mott, uttered with humility and strength, resound like the chronicles of an ancient traveler: “As the President has indicated, my life has been a life of travel—for 60 years constantly moving over the wide world on journeys which first and last have taken me to 83 countries, and, what is more significant, to most of them again and again.” These words are not the idle boasting of a wanderer, but the testimony of a man who made of his life a pilgrimage. His travel was not for leisure nor vanity, but for service, connection, and the weaving together of nations in the fabric of understanding.

For the ancients, the act of travel was sacred. The Greeks honored Hermes, the god of roads and boundaries, who guided not only merchants and messengers but also the souls of men. The Norse revered Odin, who wandered the world in disguise, gathering wisdom and binding men together in truth. In the same way, Mott’s journeys echo the timeless role of the sojourner: to go forth not for self but for others, to bring knowledge, hope, and fellowship wherever footsteps may carry. His words remind us that movement across the earth can be the highest form of service when undertaken with purpose.

History offers us the tale of Marco Polo, who journeyed far beyond the borders of his Venetian homeland, crossing deserts and oceans to stand at the court of Kublai Khan. Though his body endured hardship, his travels became a bridge between East and West, awakening Europe to wonders it had never imagined. So too did John Mott, though in a different age and with different aims, cross borders and return again and again—not to conquer nor to trade, but to unite men and women in shared faith and vision. His journeys carried no sword, only the strength of fellowship and the persistence of one who believed in the bonds of humanity.

The meaning of the quote lies not in the number of countries visited, but in the constancy of the mission. To say he returned “again and again” reveals the truth: that true impact is not in passing glances or fleeting appearances, but in steadfast presence. It is not enough to arrive once in a place; one must return, nurture, and cultivate the ties that make friendships endure. Just as a farmer must revisit his fields season after season, tending and watering, so must the builder of human bonds return to strengthen what has been planted.

And yet, the cost of such a life is great. To move ceaselessly across the wide world for sixty years is to surrender the comforts of home, the ease of stability, the quiet of rooted life. But such was the sacrifice Mott embraced. His travel was the sacrifice paid so that unity could flourish among nations, so that faith and fellowship could find a home in every corner of the earth. His words remind us that greatness is often forged in motion, and that the road itself becomes both burden and blessing.

The lesson for us, then, is clear: if we would live fully, we must not fear the long road. Whether in body or in spirit, we must learn to travel beyond the narrow confines of our comfort. This does not always mean crossing oceans or visiting distant lands; it may mean traveling across the barriers between peoples, between hearts, between those who differ from us. To step beyond ourselves, again and again, is to honor the calling of a life well-lived.

Practical action flows from this wisdom: seek not only to encounter new people and new places once, but to return, to build, to sustain. Let your friendships be visited “again and again.” Let your service not be a passing gesture but a steady rhythm. Cultivate a life that is not bound to one corner, but stretches outward, weaving ties across families, communities, nations, and generations. For in the end, like John Mott, you will not be remembered for how far you roamed, but for how deeply you connected, and how faithfully you returned.

Thus, let these words be passed down: A life of travel is not measured in miles, but in meaning. To move through the world with purpose is to leave behind not footprints in sand, but paths of light in the memory of humankind.