This is not our home.
I’ve seen realities that break my heart, bring me to bitter sorrow.
I’ve met people who fill me to overflow with hope, an offering of light for tomorrow.
When air becomes hard to breathe, I seek to disappear.
Somehow, someway, there’s always You who meets me here.
I see clearly, more than I ever have before.
This here is not mine, nor theirs, not our home. It is Yours we are purposed towards.
More importantly, it’s You we’ve been meant for.
There is no satisfaction found apart from you. No toil or pleasure, joy or matter that will not come to its end.
For our hearts beat on this flesh, a keeping of our time to remind us of what we cannot extend.
At least, not here.
You have fashioned the soul eternal. A mirror of your own life.
In some grand testimony, wisdom unsearchable, you’ve created the will and the mind.
We are torn by our fractures of what separates, what makes us even less than human.
It is us you’ve chosen not to leave behind. (Why is sin allowed? The wrong focus, the wrong question.)
Why have you so much patience?
I’ll never know. No mind or heart could fathom.
It is Love, You Yourself, which we ourselves are not capable of, that is Your sight.
What can I do? What can I say? I have reached the widow’s mite.
Bowed down now, because how could I stand?
I am simply here.
Everything pales in this light.
Yet this ‘here’ will not stand. You are coming, yes, You are coming.
For You have always been.
How do I view all that I see? By Your Truth I see glimpses beyond.
By the Son, in the Spirit, I am led to believe.
This here won’t last long.
This world with lack and war and pain, wealth and insecurity and fame,
This is not our home.
Share your good. 