A Place Called Home

Ribbons of colour, patches of light, notes of a once sung song

Traces of old days hover outside my view

I’m always reaching, it’s not very far, but it never comes into my grasp

There is a place I know, called home

I wrote those words before I knew how to long for what God has for me: the ability to live in this world and, ultimately, a place called home. It’s not necessary to suffer horrors in order to learn how to long for what God offers. Kate Moatung’s post at  perfectly captures the reason we all are, or ought to be, homesick.

Tell me what you think. Thanks.

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