I think there really is much of the vagabond in me. The homeless stranger, always wandering, even though I’m outwardly at rest. And no matter how far I wander away, there’s always a string tugging at me, reminding me that there’s a home to return to, if ever I need somewhere to rest.
Yeah, these are old shoes that I’ve been walking in
I’m wearing weary like it’s a second skin
I’ve been looking for a place to lay my head
I think in all my foolishness I always equate home to a place that stands irrevocably in one place, or a person that can journey with me, when in truth it is neither one or the other. There are some truths that I must never move away from, and there are some truths that I carry with me wherever I go. There are certain things about this home that can be strayed away from, and certain things about this home that can always be carried, like sea pebbles in a pocket. It is both and neither.
No matter how far I go, I always return. Because in spite of everything I’ve done, I need to be home. Not to mention that home still wants me…
Who can say no to unconditional love, where I am accepted despite my infirmities?
All this time like a vagabond
A homeless stranger, I’ve been wandering
All my life You’ve been calling me to home
You know I’ve been needing, I’m a broken stone
So lay me in the house You’re building
You are a shelter for every misfit soul
We are the four walls and You’re the cornerstone
You are, and You’re the solid rock that we are built upon
In many of us, there beats the heart that simply longs for a place to belong. A place where we can be welcomed with open arms. A place where we can shed our weariness and just be… a place that remains ever elusive even though we search.
For that, we would search far and wide.
And home is not simply where You are. It’s You.
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