A place called home

I've never heard of a place called home. I've never heard of a place where I could rest my head and my heart and my mind and my soul. I've never heard of such a place... until I heard of you.

Home is a place where mercy reigns. A place where grace is abundant. Love in this place? Love is like an ocean without a shore; a nation without borders. This place. This home.

Home where is where you fill in the cracks with pure gold. Home is where you repair and mend and fix and craft something beautiful out of something horrible.

Home is where I take off my shoes, personalized holy ground longing to be occupied. The place where my soles track dirt and grime. The place where my soul tracks dirt and grime. You clean it effortlessly.

Home is where I exhale. You breathe into me the breath of life. I soak it in. I savor it. I never want to let it go, but there it goes. You breathe into me again, like waves crashing elegantly into the shore, in and out in perfect harmony.

Home is absent of rhythm. Walls, barriers, shields, armor, masks line the carpeted floor in perfect un-uniformity. It's a place where "having it all together" is impossible and unnecessary.

If only I was a linguist whose knowledge of words spanned past language barriers. And if only I had a 26-volume encyclopedia set, including the world's largest dictionary and most expansive thesaurus. 

But here I stand with nothing but my own experience. I've been reigned on and flooded over. I've been broken and have the gold-filled cracks to boast. I've had my soles and soul washed and made new. I've been left breathless. I've taken off my mask.

Where is this place called home? Experience shows it is wherever You are.