For many years I lived the life of the world without belonging to it. That time of exalted awakening that I felt in my youth, the feelings of being set apart, newly born, that I must begin life afresh or anew, I somewhere laid aside or suppressed. But thru' it all wondering where do I belong? Whose life will I share? I constantly laid aside those things I knew someday I must pick up, believing and rationalizing that there was plenty of time for other things first!

That glorious awakening in my youth had somehow endued a soft, gentle voice that reminded my quietly, complained quietly so that at times I could hardly hear it, "that I was leading a strange life." I was doing many things that were only a game, sometimes cheerful, sometimes experiencing pleasure, but that real life was flowing past and did not even touch me.

Like a ballplayer, I played at my business, with those around me, I watched them, but in my heart, and my real nature, I was not even there and felt at times far away. My real self wandered elsewhere, far away and had nothing to do with my life.

I was sometimes afraid of these thoughts, wished many times I could share everyday affairs of life and job with the intensity of others, instead of having that feeling of only being an onlooker, and only that for a little while. Like a wheel on a bicycle, once put in motion turns for a long time and then slowly, nearly stopping---slowly, like moisture entering a dying tree, slowly filling and rotting it so did the world creep into my soul, made it heavy, made it tired, and almost put that voice to sleep.

Somehow, thru' time, that eager readiness to hear the divine voice within my heart had gradually become a memory, had passed. The only fountain head, which had once been near and which had sung loudly within me, now seemed only a murmur softly in the distance.

Yet, throughout that time I always felt a scorn, disdain and even a feeling of superiority towards others, because I was a Primitive Baptist, but not in practice. Oh, what a hypocrite! I even took on some of the characteristics of ordinary people [perhaps unregenerate ways] placing great importance in the way I lived. But I never was able to be, as they, always in love with themselves, with their honors, plans, hopes and most of all their own goodness.

Like a veil, a thin mist, a weariness seemed to settle on me. Slowly, everyday it was thicker, darker and heavier. The world, my job, etc. like a garment lost its bright colors, became stained and creased, the hems frayed, threadbare in places. That life became old.

The world caught me in pleasure, covetousness, jealousy, selfishness, which I hated. But in this worldly existence I experienced some kind of happiness, some kind of excitement, although, it was nothing but satiated, tepid, insipid existence, [lukewarm and flat].

I would look into the mirror at myself and feel shame and nausea. This only made me flee again in confusion to the passions of the world in a senseless cycle of becoming old and sick.

Like the ancient Romans of old, who would eat and drink too much and run to their vomitoriums and vomit painfully and feel better, so I did feel to rid my self with one terrific heave of these pleasures and habits of a senseless life.

Then that voice of old, of youth and eagerness, came quietly calling, "A path lies before you which you are called to follow and many await you." It seems that slowly and through many twist and turns I changed from a man into a child. I had to experience so much stupidity, so many vices and errors so much nausea, sorrow just to become as a little child and begin anew. I had to experience despair I had to sink to great mental depths in order to experience grace. How I hated that world of pleasures and passions and how I hated myself, and made myself old and ugly; never again will I feel myself to be clever or smart.

I knew as a child that pleasures of the world and riches are not good. I now know it by experience, not only with my intellect, but with my eyes, my heart and stomach.

That sweet bird of worldly mirth and pleasure that I listened to so happily had died within me and I had truly longed for it to perish. It was what I had wished to destroy in my youth, but my pride allowed the world to conquer me again and again. It robbed me of happiness and filled me with awful dread. Now its death is why I feel as a little child, full of trust, happiness, looking to the author and finisher of that soft, gentle voice endued so many years ago. That voice bringing with it a new found strength and power to overcome the world.