I'm enjoying a small slice of Sunday morning peace in the new flat. The boxes are slowly disappearing and our stories are re-appearing: our books, wedding gifts, furnishings all finding their spaces.
But best of all, beyond the fact that our possessions are being integrated into our new surroundings, is the way this feels like a longed for homecoming on many, many levels. This feels like a place of belonging. It is dreams that are coming home to roost here: tricky to articulate, even harder to make materialise but they are beginning here and now. And not because my life is anymore significant than anyone else's; not because I knew what I was doing all along, had it all perfectly planned out and have it all together all the time. Things are working out because with Love* they just do. And sometimes we get to see it:
"I'll take the hand of those who don't know the way,
who can't see where they're going.
I'll be a personal guide to them,
directing them through unknown country.
I'll be right there to show them which roads to take,
make sure they don't fall into the ditch.
These are the things I'll be doing for them -
sticking with them, not leaving them for a minute."
*"God is love. When we take up permanent residence in a life of love, we live in God and God lives in us." 1 John 4v17
It's good to be home.