The Return of Me To My Home


I want to fly.

Like the dove, perched on Noah’s finger, launching out into the air.

I want to be free.

Like the stubborn young son, heading off into the unknown.

I want to see the world, and have a million adventures, and go it alone.

I want to kick the dust off my feet and say goodbye to this

and hello to who knows?

But let me tell you, it can be tough out there.  No fixed place to land.  No land to call my own.

As much as I have longed to break free, I discover something in me is broken when I go my own way.

Home was more than a word.  It was a haven.

Home was more than a safe place.  It was my refuge.

I would be better off as a hired hand, than lost and tossed about.

I would be able to rest my wings.

To be certain, I still want to fly.  I still want to stretch my legs.  But I can celebrate this return to my launching pad.

The return of me to my home.

And in light of my flight and my spite

This is me,

Carrying an olive branch.

Have a great week,