Come Home

He always told me I could come back, but I was too ashamed. I asked myself, "How can I go back when I've done so much? How could He even look at me the same way when I could barely look at myself?"

"You're human," He'd say.

I knew this; I didn't need to be reminded. All I felt was guilt, shame, and it held me down.

So, that day, I put on my sneakers and through the thundering lightning and pouring rain, I ran. My shoes splashed through the puddles, soaking my socks, and I ran. I kept running. I had no directions. I had no thoughts other than the fact that I needed to get out of there.

Being in that place brought back memories, terrible memories of the physical, mental and verbal harm that someone who claimed to love me placed upon me.

"You can always come home," the voice said inside my head.

"Home where?" I replied out loud to no one. "I have no home! The one person that claimed to love me let me down in more ways that I can count, in more ways than I care to remember. Now, you want me to go back to that? Why?"

Cars sped past me. A kind man offered me an umbrella, but I shook my head no. I kept moving without even looking back at him. At this point, it was a downpour: my clothes, hair, and body were completely drenched.

"Could anything be worse than this? Yes, going back."

I reached the bridge. I stood there with my hands on my knees. I leaned forward and tried to catch my breath. My legs shivered as I took a few steps closer to the edge and looked down.

"How far is that water from where I am? How long would it take me to recover if I reached down there? Is this truly what I want?"

"Look up."

I glanced up, looking around for who said that to me. There was no one around me when I got there, so who said it? I didn't see anyone with me.

For whatever reason, I stared out into the horizon. There were several homes in the distance. One in particular caught my attention; it resembled my childhood home. It was all red dark brick and fenced around the front. I was reminded in that moment of my childhood: it was so carefree, not perfect, yet no real worries in the world.

"Come home," the thought came in my head. As I stood staring at that house in the distance, I realized the meaning of home.

Home was a place I felt free to be who I was without fear of judgement. Home was a place I felt loved, appreciated and cared for. Home was a place where mistakes were made but love followed. I was never afraid at home because being at home meant being at peace.

I realized the rain stopped falling. I looked up and saw the clouds cleared and so had my mind.

It occurred to me that home was not a place; it was a mindset. I had a chance to choose peace and not let my circumstances determine my destiny. My fingers swept across my eyes, wiping away my tears. I took a deep breath. I remembered who I was and how far I've come.

I took one last look at that house. I realized who told me to look up; it was God. It was God who reminded me that I was human. It was God who showed me grace. It was God that helped me see that as long as I gave myself a chance to live and be the person He created me to be, I could always come home.

MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR:

Allow this story to remind you that you can always come home to yourself, your self-value and all God created you to be.