kayfromhome

My heart cries out for home, but as a wayfaring wanderer, my rootless soul doesn’t recognize “home” as a single place. 

What a joy and a devastation to love and be loved in so many places.

Where is home? Where should home be?

Is home the place where people knew me best then, or where people know best who I am becoming?

I envy those who spent their whole lives in one place, where the walls and windows have seen all, know all, and love anyway.

I wrestle with the truth that some people love me with no context. They love the puzzle, having only ever known one piece. The tree, having only ever seen one leaf.

It’s lovely, but it’s lonely. Disassociative and disorienting.

I just want to go home.

But where is that anyway?

Hawaii? The land of my people. Massachusetts? The land of my peers. Washington State? The land of the present and pruning. Or Maryland? The land of promise.

God never promised me a place to lay my head or a seamless transition.

But he does promise to always be with me, and where he is, my heart is, and therein

lies the home

my heart

longs

for.