Conversations over Coffee

Conversations with Coming Home

As I walked through my days thinking about what I would write for this post I couldn’t help but linger on repeat. The Diddy-Dirty Money Coming Home chorus playing relentlessly in my head.

I’m coming home
I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming home
Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits and they’ve forgiven my mistakes
I’m coming home, I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming

The chorus has been a distraction. Is there a better feeling in the world, than the feeling of coming home?

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Two weeks ago coming home was real. The two people I love who went away came home. It was a text book homecoming etched in a typeface of relief. Normal seeped back into my veins siphoning away the anxiety.

There were airport hugs followed by conversations huddled over my mother’s kitchen as the dawn broke. Sometimes we don’t even need to step one foot away to feel like we are not home. It just takes an absence. Then when the absence is filled, it is like coming home, all over again.

But what if that absence has nothing to do with people, places or distances away? I read something recently that resonated with me. It was the idea of finding our true north and that this was a work in progress for all of us. Finding our true north, finding our purpose, realising the reason we are here and what our soul cries out to do, makes me think we spend our whole lives coming home. And only when we find that calling, that purpose, that true north are we ever really home.

As children we are born home. We start at the end. The wholesome newborn goodness and the feeling like children fell out of the arms of the angels. That is home. But then with each step we take we spend a life distracted by the lights. Until the journey we are on feels more like a strain and we start to ache for home.

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For a long time the light has been switched off at home. The compass was broken. Working hard, pushing through, ticking the boxes, juggling the balls and keeping up the shine, but never home. In my efforts to fix the compass, find my true north and make my way back home I have failed to see that home was always with me.

While home is an address of bricks and mortar. It is also so much more. It is seeing the light in the darkness. It is the kind of light that fills every pulsating part of you and that is when the ache dissipates and I am home.

Call me the writer. Call me the mother. Call me the wife. Call me the daughter. Call me the sister. Call me the child who fell from the arms of the angels. In every single one of those places I am home. And I am back on repeat.

I’m coming home
I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming home
Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits and they’ve forgiven my mistakes
I’m coming home, I’m coming home
tell the world I’m coming

Are you coming home?

 

Conversations over Coffee returns Thursday August 27, 2015
Conversations with My Hero ~ everyone is welcome


  • LydiaCLee

    I love the idea ‘we are born home’ – I might steal for First of the Month Fiction (and actually write something happy for a change…) Lovely!!!

  • LydiaCLee

    I found this prompt really hard, which is so weird for me!! (The ConvoCoffee prompts are usually overflowing with ideas for me as they’re the more poetic posts)

    • I loved your post, I think deep down we all know that home is within us and not the bricks and mortar we surround ourselves with xx

  • It really is easy to lose sight of where home is. I’ve been pushing myself extremely hard lately and have been very irritable etc. I went to the doctor today and discovered I have bronchitis and a middle ear infection. I can’t believe I continued to work through that and not take care of me. I’m definitely ready to come home and look after myself more. Lovely post x

  • “It was a text book homecoming etched in a typeface of relief.” The typographer in me loves this! And the writer in me loves this post too. I’ve just come back home with much to write, but sorry to miss this one. Two birthdays in one week, kept me from writing, my first birthday back home after twenty or so years, there was much to enjoy, coming home.

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