Poetry

Home is where I desire to be, 

not the one with 4 closed in walls,

not the one with a car in the garage,

not the one you lie your head down in,

but the one where the streets are made of gold,

the one where pain turns into praise,

the one where the savior holds me in his arms. 

That’s Home.

The ship is rocking,

the sky is haunting 

but You call me from the waters, 

You grasp me in Your arms, 

and You hold me while the storm is raging.

-That’s what the Father does