He’s never really had much trouble saying “no” to wine. All he has to do is picture the pointer finger of his ancestor wagging back and forth in the grave, and he finds it difficult to keep the straight face that is required when sampling any sort of alcohol.

What has been, and is still pretty difficult, is living like a nomad. Even though travelling to many different places has been very eventful, sometimes the uncertainty of where to go next keeps him on his toes, so he always has to be ready to pick up his tent and run.

This also means meeting a great variety of people; people he doesn’t dare to befriend, but that’s alright because they judge him the moment they find out about his lifestyle.

There has been only one stranger who actually praised his way of living, although he’s not quite sure whether it was meant to be a compliment when he’s told that he and his family should be servants at the temple forever. And by “forever”, he means a picture: a cemetery behind the temple that is full of his descendants.

He mulls it over for the next few days, before reaching the conclusion that being a servant to a holy God is much better than being a slave to anything else.


Blah blah blah

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