Picture a piece of land. Not a yard. Not a lot. Land. The kind that existed long before anyone thought to do anything with it. Wild grass. Roots running deep. Soil that has been here longer than memory. No fences. No roads. No names for it yet. Just land.

After I began questioning my faith, it felt like I was becoming one of those lost souls they used to warn me about. But what I thought was lostness was actually something else entirely. There is a difference between being lost and being between identities. Knowing that difference changes everything.