Wandering from my Father’s home,
Playing about the fringes of His grace,
Across the street,
Down the block,
Around the corner.
My own way,
My own strength,
My own resources.
Homeless. . .
Far country,
Miry clay,
Inheritance spent for hog slop.
Disillusioned,
Desperate,
Destitute.
Longing. . .
For “someplace where me and things go together,”
A home,
A haven,
Un abri.
Remembering. . .
A warm fire,
A full belly,
A loving Father.
Abba, I have sinned.
Discovering. . .
Vigilant grace with open arms,
A warm embrace,
A shower of kisses.
Robes for rags,
Filet mignon for locust pods,
Sonship for servitude,
His life for my death,
His life for my life.
Home.
