Home.

It's been one of those weeks.
Everywhere I turn, there's talk about home.
There's talk about roots.
There's talk about family.

There are innocent assumptions.
"Do your parents live nearby?"
"No, my parents died."

There is silence.
Silence that screams, "WE DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY!"
Conversations politely change. Discomfort is quickly averted. 
The unintended message is this: "You do not fit in. You are different. You do not belong."

It is a
very.
lonely.
place.

Holding back the tears takes years of practice.
Twenty years.
Still, sometimes tears spill.
It's just not what most people want to hear or see.
Trust me.
But don't pity me.


I
am
not
alone.


My Father hears.

My Father sees.

He holds back the tears 
that fill up my soul
until I can pour them out
on His feet.

And there at His feet,

I am loved.

I belong.

I am home.


"A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling."  Psalm 68:5