My new life as a missionary reminded me somewhat of my first year at seminary. It was the silence. At seminary we engaged in quiet introspection while completing our assignments. I pondered my relationship with God, my place in the world, the nature of faith, and I overcame some of the shackles of fear that binds mankind. During that year I only had three opportunities to speak, and I remember everyone of them vividly as if the words had just rolled off my lips. I haven't said a word in three weeks. We march in silence to our workstations then toil there, while holocams keep careful watch on us. The second year of seminary I still couldn't speak, though I did get to sing in the choir. Here the only songs I hear are the strings of blasphemies at the beginning and end of each shift portraying Yang as an idol for the people to worship. Like all idols he will crumble. It wasn't until the third year that Father Avery finally asked us to enlighten him. I had so much to say I couldn't stop speaking...teaching...sermonizing for a month. Soon I will enlighten these workers that toil beside of me. Most seem like nothing more than automatons, though there are a few that spend their silence lost in thought. Their eyes betray them. Their souls hunger for truth, for salvation. God has a plan, and put me here for a reason.
I have found my new flock.