Moments when my heart feels like it has come home:
Saturday afternoon, sitting with a friend by a kitchen table, leaning against a radiator, warmth spreading throughout my back. From the other room sounds of Saturday afternoon rugby, a mug of tea rested in my hands, and across the table from me a friend. A friend with whom I have no labels, am expected to play no roles and with whom I feel at peace with.
The sky darkened outside. Good food was eaten, followed by sitting in front of an open fire listening to poems and songs of heaven. We talked, and opened up to the ache in our hearts to be home. We talked of the struggles, the good things, the reality of this mess called life. And although we had no answers to most of the questions a peace found its way into the conversation. In the naming of the fears and hopes peace is found, peace coming from someone else knowing, and from knowing that we know the One who dwells in this mess.
And then we put on Anne of Green Gables on the TV. Which was the perfect end to such an evening. Soothing for the soul is the best way I can describe it.
This morning I headed around the M25 to the warmth of my parents home. Coming home feels safe. The town I grew up in, the memories that unfold as I drive along the streets, the welcome in and the familiar banter of old conversations finely tuned over the years. Hugs and people who know everything about me, have seen me through all the rubbish and the delight of my life, and who still love me. The grace of coming home is wonderful. And is something which makes me ache and feel homesick for where my home really is. For that day when all these moments that feel so fragile and fleeting now will be outclassed for eternity. The shadowlands revealed for what they were, pointers towards the blazing reality of Forever.