As a child, the brick house on the hill.
Moniteau County, Walker Township.
On the farm, outside of McGirk (where?!)
Not so much the house as the land.
Teenager: two girls occupy our home, too.
Foster kids, is this home for them?
One returns to her home.
One stays through college.
Still, is this home for her? Hard to tell.
College: "On my own!" Cool!
. . . Not home though.
I go "home" on weekends and for summers.
A thought is peeking through the clouds,
Maybe I was wrong as a child.
Maybe home is not the house or the land.
Sure feels like home to see Mom and Dad (and Brother?)
Her: Things have changed!
On top of the world, looking at spectacular,
I want to show . . . her.
Why her? Hmmm.
The question. She said yes!
Yep, I was wrong as a child.
We make home, she and I.
Home is the people not the place.
The place is nice, filled with memories (laundry, too).
If the people move, so do I.
The place becomes a memory.
Home moves with the people.
Preacher: I tell people that this is not home at all.
Home is where we're headed, not where we are.
Now I think of the Place, again.
Rolling hills, green, mountains in the distance.
I'm wrong, again.
Home is not the Place.
Home is the Person. (Think of all the people!)
I should be chasing Him, not There.
If I'm chasing Him, I find and follow Him here,
I get a taste of Ultimate Home.
Can I invite you with me?
I'm heading Home
Come along, you'll find Home.