I'm a stranger in a scary land. I've lived here my whole life but have never been comfortable. I feel so insignificant. Like nothing will ever really matter. A voice whispers in my ear that what I do doesn't affect anything. I've stumbled so many times while traveling from town to town. My sandals are broken and my legs are aching and my arms are bruised from falling. I'm always lost. Not once have I known what I was doing or where I was going. My life consists of questions. Questions that hurt my brain when I ponder them. Questions that are never answered. Questions that in essence don't even need to be asked. But still I am tormented. Ever tormented, ever lost, ever wandering. I've searched for home, for years and years. But I never found it.
I started my journey with friends. I leaned on them, depended on them but now I am alone. They were drawn to the bright lights of some of the towns we passed. So many times I wanted to go into the town and see what they were all about. The music was so seductive, the aroma of the food so enticing, and the people seemed so happy. But my legs refused to walk where my wayward heart was tempted to go. And instead of the sadness I would expect to feel, in it's place was relief and joy.
Sometimes along the way I would see traverlers such as I. Some were hungry and naked and I am ashamed to say I did not clothe or feed them. On my journey I would stay and tell them I was too busy to help them today, I had to get home. As I write this I hang my head in shame. So much I could've done. But for my selfishness I didn't.
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