A Place Called Home

Only four letters but they contain the world,

A place where one is their truest and most real.

The locus of life in its widest berth,

Where body, soul, and spirit

Shine in their brightest, most radiant hues.

Home is a simple place,

Where the sights, sounds, and smells

Pile upon one another over the years

Forging memories that remain strong

And motivate us in the outside world-

Whether for good or ill depends upon

What occurs in the ticking minutes and days

Of life in this captured space of intimate living...

Home is a family place,

Where husbands, wives,

Fathers, mothers,

Children-daughters, sons-

Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins,

Come to roost together;

Kaleidoscoping gatherings

Throughout years of singleness, 
Newly-wedding,

Babying years that grow young adults,

Middle years of alternating work and rest,

Aging golden years of

Family that swells and shrinks,

But always remains part of what makes 
Home our own Home.

Home is a friendly place,

Where friends and neighbors

Walk through welcoming doors,

Where the table is spread and spread again

With fare humble or a feast

But always blessed when broken and shared.

Home is a laughing place where

The walls echo with the sounds of joy.

Home is a weeping place where

Tears are shed and dried without shame.

Home is a singing place where

Music fills the hidden hollows with beauty.

Home is a working placed where

Sweat ends the day in tasks well done.

Home is a resting place where

Bodies are renewed in restful ways.

Home is a place where it is safe to try

And figure things out;

Like “why am I here?” or

“Where do babies come from?

Or just to be content with not knowing 
But still being alive.

Home is a place where the juices of life 
Are the ripest and sweetest;

Where the sound of clattering dishes in the sink,

Or the feel of clean sheets,

Or the view out the window,

Or the voice calling from the back yard,

Or the good-morning-it’s a great-day smell of 
Breakfast on the griddle,

Or the peaceful breathing of children asleep,

Or the letter that arrives 
Lying expectantly on the table,

Or a thousand and one other things 
Masquerade as common,

But in reality are golden pieces of a rich life.

Home is sometimes a place where sandpaper days

Shape awkward or hard edges

That need refining, reshaping with the intent of

Being real and loving without malice

Or harbored resentments,

A creeping transformation where

Daily living urges us to better things

And sweet implementation of our 
Noblest dreams and intentions.

Home is a word that, 
Whether often said out loud,

Or only quietly permeating 
The background of our lives,

Is more important to our well-being and living

Than any other accomplishment;

Whether of power, wealth, discovery, or craft.

Home is a place that goes with you,

Landing, nesting, surviving wherever the

River of Life bends your journey toward

Your eternal home where one final day

You will discover that the

Joy of being a child at home-

Loved, cared for, untroubled-

Was a beautiful prelude to

God’s never-ending surprises

In a Home where unending

Life and Peace abound.

One day Jesus told his friends that

He was going on to this new home

To prepare a place for them and us;

A place where life with the Father welcomed

And untroubled all hearts 
Whose footsteps entered through its doors.

Puzzled Thomas wondered how to 
Find his way to this home.

With tender eyes and gentle cadence Jesus

Revealed where to find 
The key to that golden home,

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life.

No one comes to the Father 
Except through me.”

Love and Home-

Two small words

With a world of meaning,

Good Lord, lead us to

Love and Home

Today and always. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

MUSIC LINKS

Bluebirds in Our Back Yard (with the piano solo "This Is My Father's World")



Scenes around our home this week ...