27 Sep

I just read about a woman of faith who went home. A woman who laughed and wrote and shared her heart and as much as she could of everything else,  it seems, from the little raised stones of blog posts she left behind.

A woman I didn’t know. But a woman God knew and who knew God, and made it evident.

I also just read an update from one of her friends, referring back to an old post when she said she doesn’t think of home as where but who. Her mother and brother were with her and she’d gone to where her Dad was. Family.

I agree. Home is where your people are. But my mind quickly gave it its most ready interpretation which was seeing God. Dad. The words have become synonymous to me, in a way that’ll never be a cliche however many Christians, and indeed other people of other religions, might say it!

Every evening, I can’t wait to go back to those arms and to know that he’s listening. And then I kick myself for missing those evenings, when I should give him time with me. To read his word, talk to him, allow myself to acknowledge that he is hearing my heart. These past few days have been pretty emotional and very eventful. And I have been a complete girl about it! And all I can think of are those moments of listening to the Father’s heart, and knowing his shoulders are strong.

I think that’s one of the things eternity might feel like – the delicious evening at the end of a long day.


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