You’re standing in a field of grass. It’s dark all around you but it’s not night. You can see the occasional ray of light through…what it is? Plastic? Yes, it’s plastic. Big, full, black garbage bags surround you, swirling and smelly.

A voice says, “Drop them. Go on. It’s okay.” You didn’t realize you were the one swirling the bags. You are startled and one bag drops. Then another. You take as deep a breath as you can, hold it, and then you let them all drop.

Suddenly you see, really see, the emerald green grass. The flowers, my goodness, the flowers are everywhere and unbelievable. There is light and you realize you are not squinting. As magnificent as the light is, it does not hurt your eyes.

You look around and you see him. Him.  You are not so taken aback by His beauty or majesty as you are by the fact that He is not scowling at you. You figured He would be, should be, disappointed in all of the bad decisions you’ve made and the pain you’ve caused. Part of you simply can’t get used to the fact of His smile. The other part of you wants to run.

“Don’t listen,” He says in the voice of water flowing over smooth rock. “Don’t run. I would love you to stay.”  

It’s the “love you” that catches. He says it gently--not pleading but rather offering. You find that you really do want to stay, and so you sit down on a rock that somehow isn’t hard at all.

It is glorious to sit and be, and you realize how weary you are. Running does that to you. Striving and surviving and seeking relief, any relief. And you are surprised to realize you have found more than relief. Here. With Him.

He is as close as your heartbeat. He is as soft as whisper. He is Love. And you’re not one hundred percent sure, but this place, but He Himself, is growing on you. Growing inside you. Welling up to life. Swelling to Life.

And you realize you are Home.