An indescribable feeling of peace settles over me as I snuggle under my afghan in my comfy leather chair. Michael Bublé croons in the background. Coffee brews in the kitchen. A freshly-laid fire crackles in the fireplace. Home, sweet home.
How well I remember those initial post-divorce months of stumbling in the dark, wondering if I’d ever feel at home again. After 20 years of marriage, how could I set up house and start over?
I read books that spoke of brighter days ahead. My family assured me. My friends hugged me. But fear kept lurking, and tears often fell. I wanted brighter days now. I didn't want to travel the long, winding road before me. I wanted a helicopter, a way out, a miracle of vast proportions.
But, of course, no helicopter appeared. No miracle lifted me to mountain heights, where mighty eagles soar. Instead, like everybody else facing the inky darkness of the dreaded unknown, I had to walk that long, winding road as best as I could. It was the toughest assignment of my life, but with God, family and friends, I found the courage to put one foot in front of the other and move forward—inch, by tedious inch; mile, by tedious mile.
Seven years later, life isn’t bump-free—I still inch forward on occasion. But no matter how bumpy the road or foggy the trail, coming home brings blessed relief.
Thank you, Father, for guiding me each day. Your provisions amaze me. Your mercies restore me. Home is sweet because of you.