pushing through the branches

When I was a baby water was sprinkled on my forehead and my parents handed me to the priest saying this child is the Lords. I grew up wearing a name tag that read God’s Property. By the age of ten I knew that I was special. That I was the Lord’s, apart and separate, a little bit different, a little bit better. God had a plan and my parents had a plan and I assumed both were ministry so I pursued it with all my being. I remember standing in a hot alter on a Thursday night among a few kids a camp who had also raised their hands when the sweaty pastor asked who here is called to the ministry? My hand shot up. All my life I’ve known I’ve been called to something. But before I was born I was stamped with a destiny, given a map and told to stick to the trail. One day while walking I noticed that the corner of my name tag was coming loose. I tried to push it back but it wouldn’t stay. So I tore it off and wondered who am I now? In fear I ran off the narrow into the thicket. I wondered the forest, touching the bark, hearing the birds, asking who do you belong to? I haven’t found an answer or a path, I am making my own, drawn by something, pushing through these branches…

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