Home is where I feel yesterdays bits of sand under my feet as I pace and sway across the wood floors with my baby in my arms in the wee hours of the night.
The sand doesn't bother me. I suppose it should, but what is a dirty floor in this fallen world?
Home is where I don't know how to comfort, don't know how to soothe, don't know how to make this baby stop crying. Praying. Asking. Jesus! What am I missing? What is wrong? Why is this happening?
A heavy head lays upon my shoulder and a slumber sets in. I look down and am overwhelmed as I envision the Lord pacing back and forth holding my friends in His arms. Their legs wrapped around His chest.
Oh the love [much deeper-higher-wider than mine] He feels for them.
Home is where I ask, What do I do? Little me. To soothe my crying friends
A friend who miscarried on her birthday.
A friend whose son has been told the cancer has spread.
A friend whose married ended.
A friend whose husband is infected and lying in a hospital bed.
A friend whose mother has been diagnosed with cancer.
A friend who is tormented with fear.
A friend who has lost a family member.
Home is...not here. This, this world, is not my home.