my destination is not my home.

For years I’ve prayed for a physical home with four walls to call my own. My heart yearned for a place for my family to dwell, grow and remain. 
As my heart strings were pulled and torn apart by house after house, my longing for a home only became stronger. Deeper. 
My deep need to stand upon lands of rolling hills and ample space to plant my feet until I began to bear fruit remained. 

I soon realized I wanted to produce my own fruit, pushing aside the fruits of the spirit.  They took too long. They hurt me too much. My fruits were beyond ripe, as they rotted deep in my soul. I allowed the stench to keep me from peace as my eyes searched to fill a void in my soul. A home. 

These things were buried underneath the rot in my soul regarding a home. Somewhere deep in the root cellar of my heart the laid in the darkness. Waiting for the cellar door to be opened. All the while I searched for outward happiness. 

love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness and temperance.

The long suffering was the only one that loved me. It got me. The burns from home to home left me with scars I couldn’t hide from those who loved me.

With my hands outstretched as far as they would extend I pleaded for a peaceful home. Lord let my children grow to love you in my home that I will search for until my mouth no longer sings your praises, instead it mutters groaning  for fresh water. I am parched lord. Fill my cup. 

Walking in the middle of the wilderness I decided to set up camp. I might as well. No home had welcomed me in. Every door was left locked by its owners. Every key was too small to unlock my dream. 
Perhaps God had forgotten my request to rest. Surely every shelter in the wilderness was taken, leaving me to stand in the rain of my own fears. 

Laying there against a tree I claimed, I realized the tree was living. A part of what God created. As my bare beaten back rested against it I knew that the home I had requested was inside my own soul. 
my home I longed for was him in me. 

I thanked him for the tree to rest my back on, and stood back up. Along my way out of the wilderness I found shelter underneath his wings . I found water in the streams , and food from the trees. He never left me as I walked out. His presence like a cool cloud around my tired body. 

I learned that even in the wilderness as I searched for shelter that ultimately he was my forever home. 

No home could bring me the joy he brings. My Papa. Ever present.

My feet became bloody and my hair thin. But I didn’t mind. My home was in the journey. My home wasn’t in my destination. 

My home was where he was. Where I was , he spoke. 

With One step towards the light , my left foot felt the warmth of the sun, while my right was tormented by darkness. 

I didnt mind. I was home. He was with me in both temperatures. 

It doesn’t matter where I sleep at night. Truly. He is with me always. 

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