Home Isn’t Always A Place

If I asked you: Where do you live?
what answer would you automatically give?
City? State? Dot on a map?
A series of numbers? A street, perhaps.
But I didn’t ask where you sleep at night.
I want to know what gives you delight.
I’m not asking a “where” but a “what.”
Don’t tell me apartment or igloo or hut,
tell me what makes your heart beat with joy.
Remember that moment, as a girl or a boy
when you sat among flowers on this sweet, warm earth,
felt the wind toss your hair; or when you gave birth
and held your own body right there in your hands?
To live isn’t defined by a piece of land.
To live is to walk in perpetual grace
unrelated to the limits of location or place.
I live in the wonder of a morning’s dawn,
in a night sky of stars, in that little fawn
that looked at me in a knowing way,
as if, somehow, she wanted to say:
Come, big brother, let’s run and play
in this beautiful garden where we shall stay
alive to the glory, the sheer delight
of seeing life with a new kind of sight.
O, to live. To live like we were meant to be.
At peace with the world; in harmony
so that every moment, regardless of place,
I might gaze upon His glorious face
and think to myself: I am home.
If I asked you: Where do you live?
I wonder what answer you might give?