The Story Behind the Poem: “Lost in Oz”

They say the truth will set you free,

But ignorance was bliss,

Wandering around like Dorothy,

Believing a wizard was the fix,

Following a golden path,

Ignoring all the clues,

Wearing tinted glasses to match

My sparkling ruby shoes;

I could have gone on unaware

Of what went on behind the scenes.

Maybe I’ll wake from this nightmare,

Click my heels, and it’s just a dream.

There’s no place like the home we made

Before the tornado took it down.

Now here in Oz I’ve strayed

With no wizard to help me out.

This poem is deeply personal. It speaks to the experience of losing something that once shaped every part of who I was: my faith.

For most of my life, I was immersed in Christian fundamentalism. Church multiple times a week. Christian schools. Christian university. Leading Bible studies and service projects. My social media was filled with verses and prayers. My identity was wrapped in belief. It was my foundation, my anchor, my answer to every question.

And then came the unraveling.

At first, I wasn’t questioning. I was searching for clarity, for truth, for deeper understanding. I believed my faith could handle scrutiny. I believed I would find the confirmation I was seeking. But instead, everything shifted.

It felt like waking up in Oz, realizing the world was not as I had always seen it. I had been following the path I was told would lead to answers, security, and home. But the path began to crack. The wizard behind the curtain wasn’t who I thought he was. And when the truth came into view, I couldn’t unsee it.

Deconstruction is a tender, complicated process. It can feel like grief, like betrayal, like rebirth. For me, it was all of that. I wasn’t “lost” in the way I had once feared people could be. But I did feel untethered, like I had to rebuild my entire sense of self from the ground up.

And still, there’s beauty in that.

This poem captures that in-between: the ache of letting go and the quiet strength of starting again. These days, I live in the questions. I’m okay not having it all figured out. I don’t know what I believe anymore, and I think that’s allowed. What I do know is this: I am still here. Still searching. Still becoming.

With warmth and wonder,

Sharla