What is Wanderland?
I’ll tell you—
it’s not a fairy tale.
It’s not unlike Alice,
falling fast through a rabbit hole—
but mine wasn’t whimsical.
It was raw.
And real.
And endless.
Do you know what it means
to be lost?
To chase purpose like a ghost—
mirrored smoke,
a riddle grinning back
with teeth like a Cheshire cat:
“Does it matter where you’re going?”
“It’s your life—do what you want…”
Right?
Then why,
deep down,
does none of it
touch solid ground?
When you’re surrounded
by pleasures—
the kind that rust,
the kind you crave
when your soul is starving.
I chased that rabbit.
Every time.
And life kept ticking.
Louder.
Faster.
See—
purpose isn’t some
new age awakening,
not an epiphany
burning gold
on the edge of a vision.
It’s not a blind prophecy.
It’s not something you imagine—
it’s something that finds you.
Not something you see—
something that sees you.
So I wandered.
Through shadows,
through teeth.
Through velvet promises
that cut like glass.
I bled on thorns
hidden beneath the soil—
my skin split open,
my tears soaking
the roots of my own undoing.
And some nights,
I whispered to the dark:
I don’t want to be here anymore.
I smiled anyway—
wide,
hollow,
distorted,
like a clown painted over
with someone else’s joy.
Sometimes I sighed
because the ache
needed air.
Sometimes I ran—
but my baggage ran with me,
a ghost tethered
two feet behind
and far too close.
And then—
a voice.
Faint,
like wind across canyon bones.
A whisper.
A warmth.
A light.
Soulful eyes
reaching from the alleyways
of my despair.
But I was covered in dirt,
stinking of shame,
stiff with fear.
That hand—
spotless, warm—
reached for me.
But I couldn’t take it.
Not because it wasn’t real—
but because I wasn’t.
Because I believed
I’d gone too far,
messed up too much,
drifted too long
through the kind of dark
you don’t come back from.
I didn’t think
grace could reach me.
Didn’t think
love would want to.
I felt too filthy,
too fractured,
too far removed
from anything worth holding.
So I turned away.
Not because I didn’t want saving—
but because I didn’t believe
I deserved it.
But one day,
I gave up.
Not in defeat—
in release.
I laid it down.
The mask.
The muscle.
The weight.
And I saw her—
that little girl,
waving from the edges
of a life I used to know.
The one who knew the path
before I strayed from it,
believing I had to carve
my own.
I chased maps
drawn by strangers.
Let their philosophies
seduce me
off the edge
of who I was.
So of course,
I got lost—
carrying burdens
that were never mine
to begin with.
Burdens
already carried
by someone
who had always
been waiting.
Then—
I turned.
Toward the voice.
Toward the light.
Toward the eyes
that saw through
the dark in me.
And I heard it.
Finally—
the call from above the mountain:
“I’m here.
Just follow the sound
of my voice—
and I’ll lead you home.”
That hand—
it reached again.
And this time,
I took it.
And it lifted my weight.
All of it.
And I collapsed
into the arms
of a mercy
I didn’t know
was mine.
“Come on,” He said,
with a smile
of relief,
“I thought I’d lost you.”
But there was a twinkle
in His eyes—
as if He had been watching,
waiting,
for me to
acknowledge Him all along.
His hand
tightening protectively
around mine.
“We’ve got a long journey ahead—
but I’ve got you now.”
J.N. Rose 