Coming Home

Put down your paper plate
come to the table made
deep blue china
found on the table by the wine
so fine

it brings out flavor
like You bring out color in life

oh, I miss You so
the feel of forever
oh, that taste I know
it hurts to remember
unfortunately high
ironically dissatisfied
I miss You
I miss You

oh, I miss You so
the feel of forever
oh, that taste I know
it hurts to remember

I had a fleeting thought this morning
and I mentioned you today
it breaks my heart just to know You in part
and not to be with You where You are


I close my eyes because this place is good. I close my eyes because- like the lyrics of a Phil Wickham song say- “Father I'm running, Father I'm coming home. I cannot go on; your child is running, Father I'm coming home, back where I belong.”

And I raise my hands, because I hope that He’ll be close enough to let me touch Him. Just the corners, or the edges…any little piece will do. And I hope, and pray, that He can take all of my little, beating heart..or stony heart…or cracking heart…or overflowing heart.

And in the stillness, and in the quiet, my heart knows Him so well, and hears Him so well, that it doesn’t ache, or want for anything else, but for that little stillness to last, forever. I don’t need to see him, because I feel Him, and I don’t care how ridiculous that sounds, when the Holy Spirit is near, you can’t possibly confuse it with anything in this world.

This place is good. This place is home.

You might be wondering what the “point” of this blog is. I can’t really say, other than to have just a little moment of thankfulness, and to have a quiet moment to just be in awe of a God who meets with us, and hears us, and lets us run, weak legs and all, into His presence. And welcomes us despite all else.

What a beautiful God. What a beautiful, beautiful, God.