Home

“You can always come home”, he whispers to me as we say good-bye.

 I can usually hold back the tears until this point when I look up and see his eyes, the eyes that match my own, filling.

And then I lose it, my face contorting in that awful, ugly cry.

Because really, those are the words I need as I leave to face the world. I know they will always love me, but sometimes, I need to be reminded there is always a place.

There is always home.

And last night, I wrapped my arms around her as tears threatened my eyes, poured from her own.

She said good-bye to us, her family for the last year. We knew this day was coming, but it was too soon. Our minds filled with words we wanted to say, words we meant to say, but really, how do you let them out when this person you love is leaving, and you don’t know if this goodbye is for now or forever?

“You can always come home”, I whisper to her as she leaves us.

This stranger in my arms has become my little sister, and the building behind us is home. Our home.

And I think about the news today… little ones who will never come to their homes, sit at kitchen tables, sleep in their beds, fight with their siblings, and greet their parents with the beautiful faces fresh from a long night’s sleep.

For so many other little ones, home has changed its definition. It meant safety, rest. But now their innocence is broken and this world that used to feel so familiar now hangs like an oversize sweater in July. Scratchy, uncomfortable, out of place.

What do you do when home isn’t home anymore?

I have said good byes before, whispered in the ears of little ones struggling, aching, “Go home.” And it hurts because you want them to fight, to press on, to live. Because this is all my human mind can comprehend. This life, this skin, this air, these walls. But I let them go.

Because I know.

I know this isn’t home.

He is.

And the words whispered by my Daddy echo His heartbeat…

My little one, you can always come home.

When the world doesn’t make sense, when the pain is so deep I can barely breathe,

When it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and I can’t see beyond this moment. I can’t understand.

When I fail. Again. And the shame overwhelms and the guilt covers me like a wet blanket.

My little one, you can always come home.

Because He is home. He is my rest, my safety. So even though I can’t comprehend how in the world this can be used for His good purpose, I run.

I run to Him. My peace, my love. I run to His arms. And I breathe.

And I am home.