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