Four letters used to mean four walls to the girl with pink ribboned pigtails; when bus stops after school were her biggest hurdles, testing patience. Four walls of comfort greeted by full smiles and sticky fingers. But the house wasn’t a home until finger paints found themselves on once white walls and she put on her best dress and danced in the living room, twirling in her favorite man’s arms, knowing that she could always return to her tiny bed with cotton candied sheets and she would be home. Growth spurts came and pigtails vanished, and four walls suffocated young lungs. A heart beating for something bigger finds no solace between painted walls and beige carpet. So like her old doll that came and went, she discarded the meaning of those four letters, to be redefined in the man who was the finishing stroke to her grand canvas- the missing note from her favorite song. Four words joined another four, and home became where she felt loved. Because bricks and a backyard don’t offer the same comfort when the big bad blows of life still knock your house down. She knew that she could always return to a heartbeat, a hand, a hug, and she would be home. Years came, bringing wrinkles embedded with memories. And just like that, four letters once defined were now outgrown. Life is a boomerang circling back to its origination so that wings free to soar will once again return- back to Who created them. Because perhaps those four letters were never meant to be confined to this earth. So joy was found in the patience of passing time, knowing that she wouldn’t be home until she returned to her Father’s arms.
Home (via hischild-apoem)
