Coming Home

In all of the Januarys and Mondays, the I’m sorrys and amens, sunrises, and the grace found in the sweetness of Sabbath, I am always looking for the new beginnings. If this past year wasn’t ever the biggest nod of permission to lose our false ideation, I don’t know what was.

Just lately I have found myself easily triggered, frustrated and anxious and believing the lie that I don’t deserve that new beginning. Would I be more worthy if I did more for my neighbor? If I lost the weight? If I continued my education? If I sacrificed more? It sounds ridiculous to put so bluntly to paper, but that’s essentially what I am bargaining my worthiness over. How about you?

This past year was a readjustment of our lives. A call to slow down and show up. And in that void of distraction - the slowing down and showing up - we have been handed the gift of feeling it all. The gift of seeing what we’re made of: our resolve and our sadness.

This present year I am focusing on what it means to come home to myself, and not in that self-help kind of way. Coming back to myself through an understanding that has nothing to do with study or intellect and everything to do with resting in who I am right now in this moment, and realizing that God’s love is inescapable.

Coming back to myself in a way that has nothing to do with being better or doing more, but resting in the realization that God indwells all of the versions and the evolution of me in my entirety. Knowing that God is wherever I am. That God is my eternal home; my forever shelter, and if my house is suitable for the Creator of Life to inhabit, then I can find peace there too.