the preacher shared this joke last week:
a man was stranded on an island for several years before a ship finally sailed by and spotted his frantic waving from the island. the crew rowed a boat over to rescue the man and took a stroll around the island to see how he survived on his own all those years. a sailor was surprised to see 3 huts on the island.
“aren’t you the only person on this island?” he asked.
“yes,” the man replied. “you see, this first hut is the house in which i live in. the next hut is the church at which i worship,” he explained. “and this hut here is the church which i used to go to, but not anymore.”
surely no man is an island, even if he can very well be on one. right now, i am in one of those moods where i’ve exiled myself to a deserted island and built 2 churches out of desperation for a sense of community, of belonging. i don’t really want to be here, but i think i deserve to be. and while it’s ridiculously unfair for me to blame anyone else for my predicament, i am more and more convinced that i am not at fault. that it’s me against them. that they put me here.
it’s something that even 2 curry puffs and some coffee can’t cure.