Coming Home.

Where is home? Who knows. 

My little gypsy heart doesn’t really have a place I connect with as a physical home. Maybe the best way I can describe what home means to me is quite literally- a hug from someone I know loves me unconditionally. As lame as that sounds. Hugs bring tears to my eyes. Now that doesn’t mean it’s waterworks when I’m walking down the street and see two people hug. I mean like a real embrace. Like its been a really long week (month, year, decade, lifetime, you name it), everything’s gone wrong, I need a piece of pie and a hug from my momma or it’s off the side of a cliff for me kind of hug.

Touch is so, so, so powerful. So powerful. We can’t even understand how much. I can feel the power of God move through someone’s hand on my shoulder so stinkin’ strong-like (I think I told y’all I moved back to Tennessee, but in case I didn’t- I’ve been pulling out my redneck vocabulary to get back in the swing of things.) There is no better feeling to me than an extra long hug from my parents, adopted parents, grandparents, siblings… you get the point.

Really, the heart of it all is just Love. 

I’ve been back in Knoxville for over a year now, longer than anyplace else I’ve lived since I graduated high school. So clearly I think it’s about time I move again. 

We’ll see where God leads, but I know I came back to Knoxville because I was searching for a home. And this used to be it. But not anymore.

Home isn’t so much a place to me as it is a feeling. I’ve had a lot of houses and lived a lot of places, but as cliche as this sounds…. for me, home truly is where my heart is.


Where is home for you? Where do you feel most loved? Where do you feel your gifts and talents are being used to the best of your ability to glorify the Most High King? Where do you feel most encouraged? Where do you feel at ease? Where do you feel least judged? Where do you feel secure? 


I’ve been searching for a while now. 

But if I know nothing at least I know this much- I am my Father’s Joy. (ADDult side note: I want that as a tattoo. In Hebrew. Mom told me just to write it in a book. We’ll see.)                 (Oh hey mom, love you.)


I may not be Home yet, but I know who I belong to. I hope you do too. 


Let’s be real, are we really ever supposed to feel like we are home until we are resting in the arms of the Lord watching Friends on the golden floor of our tree house in Heaven? A. I am a firm believer that there will be a Jesus version of Friends when we get there. I want to be Chandler, you guys can pick from the other 5. And B. I know we are all getting mansions, but Lord, will you make a note that I’m okay with a really cool tree house?


Gosh… I think I’ve gone down enough rabbit trails for tonight. 

I honestly don’t even remember what I started writing about in the first place. 


Goodnight friends. 

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