The Outsider

I grew up on pews and polished smiles,

knew every hymn before my name.

A pastor’s kid — raised on altars,

raised to be the flame.

But somewhere between rules and reverence,

my heart began to stray.

Maybe I didn’t fall —

maybe I simply walked away.

The world was loud,

its colors bright,

and I slipped through the back door

into the night.

And when I came crawling home,

dust on my knees,

they whispered, “Prodigal…”

then turned back to their routines.

Pews were filled,

circles tight and sealed —

familiar faces, but somehow

none of them saw me healed.

I wore the name black sheep

like a badge they pinned,

outsider in the house

I was once nurtured in.

I know Scripture —

the Shepherd seeks the stray —

but some saints forget

how mercy’s supposed to stay.

Still…

there was One who saw me long before

the muttered judgments,

the closed-up doors.

One who crossed the hills,

traced tears I tried to hide,

left ninety-nine safely grazing

just to walk me back inside.

He didn’t look at just

my bruises or scars,

but lifted me gently,

And called me His

So maybe I’m the outsider,

the misfit they ignore —

but I am the one

He left the ninety-nine for.

They can keep their cliques

and sanctified pride,

I’ll keep the Shepherd

who walked me home,

who stays by my side.

Let them see a problem —

He saw a beloved daughter restored.

Let them see a backslider —

He saw me worth searching for.