I shut my eyes willing the bright sunlight to soak into me, willing myself to never leave. I was in seventy degrees and sunny. I was in peace and quiet. My backpack full of burdens was unloaded and I rested easy.
But I knew I was going home. And right now home is hard.
Home is ice, snow, and hard earth. Home is question marks and unknowns. Home is unopened mail, dishes in the sink that should be in the dishwasher, potential for conflict.
Home is hard.
I felt myself tensing up – how could I go back to hard? I had tasted easy – I didn’t want hard. I had tasted peace – I didn’t want chaos. I had tasted rest – I didn’t want frenzy. I had walked the clean, cold tiles of my friend’s home, and sat in the warmth of a park while looking on mountains in the distance. I had stopped to take in palm tree silhouettes at twilight and sunsets across an expansive sky. I had slept with no neighbors above me yelling at their dog and pounding across the floor at midnight.
What do you do when home, the place you look forward to, the space where you belong, is hard?
I take a deep breath, hold out my hands, and ask for grace. I breathe in Grace. Grace to enter hard. Grace to enter chaos. Grace to enter frenzy. Grace to enter with gratitude. I can’t do this on my own – I’m desperately in need of intervention.
Because right now? Home is hard and hard needs the transformation that comes through gratitude and grace.