My life has been crazy recently.
I’ve felt a bit outside myself…
Trying to put one foot in front of the other…
rather than actually living.
When one of my tight friends asked me to join her on a road trip to Texas last week,
I could hardly say yes fast enough.
I hadn’t been home since the spring…
and I just so happened to have bronchitis last time I was home.
So, I was there but practically high on Nyquil and unconscious the whole time.
All that to say…
I was pumped to go home even if it were just for a day or two.
Pulling up to my family’s house in Houston,
I was overwhelmed with a peace that is unexplainable.
I felt so adored when I walked in the back door.
I felt welcomed and understood and loved on…
all mixed together with tons of hugs and smiles.
Home for me is a safe place.
A place I can breathe deep.
A place I can take off my shoes and relax.
A place where I can lay flat in middle of the living room and sob and not be messed with.
A place where I can just be… junk and all.
Honestly, The entire weekend I felt like a queen.
Although I hadn’t been off rebelling and going against my family,
I deep down felt what the prodigal son may have felt when he went home to his family.
Feasting and rejoicing. Love and compassion.
There was constantly a pot of coffee on
and a hug waiting around every single corner.
My cup (and coffee cup) ran over.
My favorite meal was cooked.
Fresh sheets were on the bed.
Homemade chocolate chip cookies were in the oven.
All of my siblings canceled their plans
just because they knew I’d be there.
Sometimes in life I get so caught up in this or that…
and being overwhelmed by this sin…
or this person’s opinion of me…
or getting this done…
That I forget that my very existence is treasured.
That who I am is enough.
Seeing my family welcome me in just as I was,
simply loving that I was in front of them…
reflected so much of the Father’s heart.
I didn’t have to walk into my house and apologize that I’d sucked at keeping in touch…
or confess that I had dirty laundry in my bag.
I didn’t have to justify why my bank account was practically empty…
or apologize that it’d taken me forever to come visit.
There were no conversations that had to be had for me to feel welcomed.
I didn’t have to give them an overview of the deepest junk in my heart before they’d embrace me.
They just did.
They love who I am.
They treasured my very existence.
My mom showed this as she leaned against the bathroom door
watching me get ready with tears in her eyes…
Affirming who I am and reminding me how much she loves me.
My pops showed this as he followed me out the door as we headed back to Georgia
and snuck a wad of cash into my hand for gas and coffee…
and whispered that he loved me.
I didn’t have to do anything to make them love me…
they just do.
I have often fallen for the lie that I have to get my ducks in a row to get into the Lord’s presence.
That I must justify my sin…
and hide in shame and weep before I can speak to Him.
He loves just as we are.
Mess and all.
Dirty laundry and all.
In our failures and depression and exhaustion.
He sees it and doesn’t even care.
He is simply satisfied by our existence.
I don’t know about you but that is liberating to me.
His love for us isn’t blown with the wind.
His love doesn’t change depending on the extremity of our sin.
I love that I have the family that I do…
But what I love even more is that it depicts just a tiny fraction of His love for us.
I love that with him we can come in with baggage in our hands…
tears in our eyes…
scrapes on our knees…
and band aids on our hearts with no explanation needed…
and He gently says, “Welcome home.”