When I picture the wild, bright trail my own faith has followed, I remember a silent dawn in the foothills far from home. Shoes dusted with red sand, I walked past waking cottages and drank in the unfamiliar hush. Alone, but not lonely, I found a weathered bench along the route. Reading Psalm 121 beside pealing church bells in a language I could not decipher grounded me more than any Sunday service ever had. Strangeness strained my habits until gratitude filled the gaps—praye