We traveled from one place to another

always leaving a path of destruction in our wake

We were totally alone

driven from every place we had been

always taking a few friends we had made with us

But each place was different

each place was new

each place had it’s excitements

But it was hard, not having any place to call home

One town we moved to

beautiful red brick walls with white trimming

it looked like a fairy tale

or a brightly-colored cake

With a beautiful church directly in the center of town

Its roofs used to be copper

but they had been stained green by the sun

It was tall and old

and had a shining cross on top which, when the sun hit it,

gleamed like a lighthouse beacon

It was the pride of the little old town

this beautiful church and the pastor within it

With good reason.

We weren’t chuchgoing people exactly

but we managed to catch a few phrases of the man’s sermon the first day we were in town…

It was a still summer day

the kind so hot that it sticks in your throat and makes you wish that it was Hitler so that you could say mean things about it and assassinate it

the tall, dark, carved wood doors of the church were flung open to try to tempt any breeze into drifting its way up the Priest’s robes

The young man was telling his sweating congregation that a city

“Is not the place you are born

nor is the place you grew up

and furthermore it is not a tangible place with walls, or a church, or a house,

but a city is your home

and your home is the people you are with

the friends you make along your journey

The life you have outside of material goods and walls…”

We stayed to hear a little more, but to this day that is the only part of any of his sermons that I can recount verbatum

This one was for us

we all looked at eachother as the words came out of his mouth and we knew

our relationship with the Lord would be different from that day forward

and so would our attitude towards other cities

and each other.

That man changed my life

in more ways than one

I have carried on my nomadic lifestyle

not always happily

but whenever I grumble about anything along the way

it is not about the fact

that I do not have a home



Filed under Free Verse

2 responses to “Home

  1. Pingback: Come on! « wordcoaster

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