I’ve heard people say it takes three years to feel at home somewhere. I think it takes a lifetime.
Lamp light glows from the corner of the family room, illuminating colored plastic bowls holding melted ice cream and brownie crumbs. A battlefield of celebrating seventeen scattered sideways over orange shag. She turned the lights out wearing dolman sleeves full of joy, an owl necklace smiling.
“I have some of the greatest friends,” she texted me from school earlier today.
“Yep, you do,” I texted back. “I’m thankful for that.”
God answered my prayers on the fifth year of our wandering. Would you give her friends, I asked.
Aren’t we supposed to love our neighbor as our self?
And some may find it strange that He answered with a phone call every parent hopes they won’t get. He saves her from an inch of her life in a collision with a semi and it uncorks the gift of friendship.
But it’s not strange to me. Home is where hearts huddle together and hold on for the meaning of life. And that takes more than three years, it takes a lifetime to walk each other home. For redemption to hang off your shoulder.
Linking with Lisa Jo for Five Minute Friday with the one word prompt: Home.