I am home

Everyone wants to belong somewhere. I've spent a lifetime searching for that place, and yet, always feeling like I'm sitting right outside of it. Like all of my neighbors had a block party, and despite being in the midst of it, I wasn't invited. I discovered early in life that inclusion equals security, approval, acceptance; a place to rest, be fed, grow; a home.

And I've spent my life homeless.

black or white. be tamed or live free. the church or my truth. fit in or be me. real or raw. belonging somewhere or belonging nowhere.

In each home I would come across, I would run from room to room, searching, frantic to find one that embraced me, that girl who is both black and white, who bristles at domestication and instead breathes her fierceness, who deeply loves Jesus and finds religion stifling and hypocritical, who longs to belong and chooses to stand apart. Where was that room?

The drive to belong somewhere, anywhere, has had me moving into unfit homes all my life. 
Striving. Molding. Changing. Struggling. Diminishing. Searching, always searching.

"You know that you are a crazy kind of different, right? That is hard for some people to swallow. That doesn't make them right and it doesn't make you wrong."

Three days. Three people. Three times. Similar message.
I am different, weird, crazy. Undefinable. Outside the box. 

I was hurt that others would reject who I was, angry that God refused to release​ me from yet another dysfunctional home*, and at the root, fearful that I would never find my place in this world. In those three days, I would go through transformation, a revolution of thought, a death of old, and a rebirth of new. I "crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side", came out more on the other side. I went in thinking lies, that I was less than these people who shunned me, and I came out victorious, holding the truth in my heart, knowing that I am that I am.

More me. More accepting of my differences. More welcoming of the unique creation that I am. More awake. More alive. It suddenly clicked that home has never been about a building, an institution of any kind, or a people. 
Home is in me. Home is me. 

"You are only free when you realize you belong no place - you belong every place - no place at all. The price is high. The reward is great."    ~Maya Angelou

The turtle has it right. Home is something we each carry with us, a part of us, everywhere we go. I can stop searching. I can stop believing the lie that I don't belong. Every time I show up authentic, wherever that may be, I belong to the ones who need the unique creation that I am.

I belong to Him.
I belong to me.
I belong to everyone.
I am home.
Yeah, let that sink in.

*This is not my personal home. That happens to be one place that I feel 100% free to be me. This is also not a condemnation of this particular dysfunctional home. I actually believe that all homes are dysfunctional in some way, whether those homes are houses, families, groups, or a single person. We all have something that doesn't quite measure up, that keeps us from functioning as a perfect whole - the secret is to accept that reality, be honest about it, and go about living in a way that brings wholeness to whatever that lack, that dysfunction, is. I could write a whole post about the blatant, and hidden, dysfunctions of every "home". another day... 


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