My Heart, My Home

A honk. Cars force their way through the crowded streets, sending murmurs of city noise up to the top of the highest skyscrapers. The sun sets to the southwest, a receding glow beyond the Garden State. The skyline flickers ever brighter, electricity taking up daylight's mantle to keep the insomniac city awake. Every light, every building is different. The long corridors of street and sidewalk are rushed by ocean winds, trapped amidst the glass and re-bar. Beneath, trains barrel through dark tunnels, wheels screeching on well worn tracks. In the heart of Manhattan, signs and banners attack the eyes with radiance and color rivaling Vegas' best. People pour off of street corners, and Broadway lights declare hip culture, sharp comedy, and show music at its finest. To the north, acres of trees and grass beckon with promises of rest, retreat, and romance. Ships float in and out of the harbor, and Lady Liberty welcomes each of them proudly. The entire landscape itches with excitement. Everywhere, everything is happening.

But as much as I love New York, it's not home.


A rustle. Squirrels chase each other down a sapling, scaring a bird of its quiet roost. The scent of pine and chill of sunrise rush the senses with delight. Among the trees, shadows dance as a breeze stirs the branches. The growing sunlight glows white on the unkempt grass, still wet with morning dew. In this quiet I can hear my heartbeat. Beauty greets me from from every aspect.

But as much as I love the forest, it's not home.


A crash. Waves stretch their foaming fingers over a weathered rock. Floating easily on the steady ocean wind, seagulls call out noisily, fighting to be heard over the surf. The receding water pulls sand from behind my heels, burying my feet and leaving tiny pools in its wake. In the distance, sailboats move in lazy zig-zags, traveling with no destination in mind. Salt and sea breeze fill my nostrils, and sunlight kisses my shoulders.

But as much as I love the beach, it's not home.


A whisper. Lips brush my ear as words spill out. An invitation draws me to follow your footsteps, my hand clasped gently in yours. In complete trust, I close my eyes and let you lead, movements matched against the rhythm. I feel you close and my heart is blushing, bursting, joy spilling over into my smile. The crowd around us fades away, and all I see is you.

But as much as I love you, you're not home.


A song. Angels sing unending praise. Children gather at their Father's throne, exalting His name with every breath. In perfection we live, eternal, holy. All around His glory shines, and every tear is wiped away. All is as it should be.

Abba, Spirit, Lord Jesus, I love You, and You are my home.