My home awaits me. I will hasten there

I have tried to make a permanent home inside temporary arrangements.

A familiar role, a certain relationship, or the place where everyone once gathered begins to feel like the location of belonging itself. When it changes, I can feel spiritually homeless.

This lesson does not ask me to stop loving places and people. It reminds me that none of them created the belonging I experienced through them.

I remember standing in an almost-empty room after a home had been cleared. Without the furniture and familiar objects, the room felt strangely anonymous. I could see how much meaning I had believed the walls were holding.

The walls had held our days, but they had not created the love within them.

Home waits in God because belonging cannot be sold, packed, lost, or outlived. It travels beneath every change of form.

To hasten home does not mean rushing through this life. It means stopping the long detour through approval, control, and possession whenever I notice I have taken it.

Today I want to recognize where I have made belonging conditional.

I may grieve what changed. The lesson does not remove tenderness from memory.

It gives memory a larger place to rest.

My home is not waiting at the end of a perfect return to the past. It waits in the Love I have never actually left.

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