However, the sturdiness that I came to celebrate was far more hollow than I was ready to admit. You see, this house was made of sand - and the hands that built it had not been my own. So when the storm finally came and the rains and wind tore through the land with no consideration of what had been built, there I found myself…homeless and seemingly lost.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t have any walls to lean on, for the winds of life and wiped them from where they stood. I was left with no choice but to move, lost in a vast and unfamiliar plain.

And so I wandered, with no hands to guide me or construct a place for me to dwell. It brought me great sorrow and confusion at first. The path wasn’t clear and my steps felt awakened and heavy, yet aimless and disjointed. I mourned my home and all the warmth and security it brought me, as I was now feeling the unbridled force of the elements.

But as I wandered, my skin thickened. The sting of the cold began to dull, and the burn of the heat started to wane. The fog that covered the plain remained, but my vision began to sharpen, revealing clearer paths and the footsteps of those who had gone before me.