Home.

I've been pouring every bit of creative energy I can muster up into my book. I've given myself permission to completely ignore this blog during this season. A few nights ago, I said to Chad, "I wonder what it will feel like to write for fun again?" And that's when I knew that I should probably do just that.... write something purely for fun. These words came to me while driving home from my cleaning job.

What is home?

Its taking exit 6B and going straight through all the red lights till you're surrounded by mountains.

Its him walking in the door, wearing camouflage and smelling like the woods.

Its soup and cornbread on a winter night.

Its more drivers than not, waving to me on my walk.

Its a child banging on the piano.

Its the neighbor texting to say she's letting something on the porch for the girls.

Its the stairs creaking under little feet in the morning.

Its still my mom's landline number in my phone contacts.

Its also a Place of Light that I've never seen.

What is home?

Its the place I came from. The place I am. And the Place I long for.