I miss home. The smell of fresh cut grass. Air heavy and sticky hanging on shoulders slowing time and holding memories. Playing outside until it’s too late to see. Laying under stars still brightly shining. The ease of day holding tomorrow comfortably and capably when what is yet to come comes in dreams pleasant and waiting; never rushed to get too, for the day still is where you want to be. The way life used to put together and make sense.
I woke up this morning missing the life I once knew, wanting to go home, forget about where I am, lose myself in her familiar embrace. I say her of home because she embraced me well.
I am a sojourner moving at the speed of yesterday’s sound. I once felt found. Now, I’m more lost. The path buried beneath leaves of a season past.
Hope rings in my ears a bit louder, clearer and sweeter, with each passing day. And now, I’m just walking from there to somewhere every step forward further and closer defining what will be.
It’s not c’est la vie. We are not bound to life’s swing and circumstance. The path is not life’s to lead. It’s ours to follow.
I heard a friend share a promise yesterday that I no longer believed in. Until he reminded me, at least.
“…that the God who started this great work in you would keep at it and bring it to a flourishing finish on the very day Christ Jesus appears.”
Promise. It’s the magic of home, why all makes sense, why you would never want another day too badly.
All roads of promise always lead home. No matter the detour, impasse or difficulty; the gaps in life you don’t want to remember and the days you wish would burn away, promise reigns over all whether you bow in thankful exhale and submission or break and run in anxiety and fear.
I still miss home today. Days will rest easier again. Until then, God’s promise to keep at it guides in the up and down, the twisting and falling and the reach to summit.