manifesto of the unmarried homemaker – a poem

Hello, friends!

I was digging through my Notes app (as one does) and ran across this poem from over two years ago.

I thought I’d share.✨

eleven minutes past midnight, my legs are restless for

a mad dash down a winding road,

and I just want to be home…

to curl up in a familiar bed

and know these weary bones can curl

beneath a quilt of home.

my soul stirs, too,

with my cramped and aching muscles,

and I want this journey down a winding road

to lead me safely home…

to curl for the first time in familiar Arms

that hold a depth of home I’ll never fully grasp

till then.

h o m e . . .

it’s a quiet word, unassuming, and yet

it holds the deepest

hopes and dreams of this stumbling soul.

in the scarred flesh and blood of me,

the call of home stirs…

a desire to be the smile

at the end of a man’s long day of honest work

and the refuge and sustainer of a tribe of growing souls.

something in me whispers

this is the life for which you were made,

but wisdom whispers louder visions

of sagging skin and graying hair and

I know

that even dream days fly on dying wings.

and so He teaches me to long for something greater…

to let home mean more

than a picture-perfect vision,

for home is

forgiveness in pain-shot eyes,

plans rearranged so hearts can be realigned,

and whispers of I’m here for you

in the midst of the madding crowd.

it’s a sturdy way of loving

blood and stranger just the same,

and it grows as well in hearts as it does in houses.

Photo by Scott Webb on Unsplash