what is this stirring deep within me?

What is this stirring deep within me? This inner longing that carries sadness on its breath and lament in its voice? 

It is not despair, I think. Despair is to have lost hope, and hope is something I have in abundance. 

I know what these telescopic eyes see: I see the future. 

So, perhaps … perhaps, this is what it feels like to be homesick. 

For I am a soldier far from home.

I have endured battle and on my way home, many skirmishes yet await me. 

I have seen many victories.  In fact, the war is won.

But I am still so very far from home.

When I grow weary I pull from my heart pictures of home, weathered and scratched and curled on the edges. My Father writes me letters daily and sends new photos; they are my joy because I know he is with me. His thoughts are toward me, and he too is eagerly awaiting our final reunion. The day we all come home. 

And when the tumult of battle disorients me or weakens me, I know I can call for help. I am never alone. The lines of communication, though often muffled on my end, are never down on his. 

My Captain comes. 

He sets a table for me and refreshes me. He gives me rest. 

I depend on him and he cares for me as a Shepherd.

He has led me out of valleys before, and he will bring me out of valleys again. Surely, to the very end.

I also have a fellowship of soldiers around me. We comfort each other, talking about all things noble and true. We share the stories we have of our Father’s provisions and unending love. We marvel at our Captain’s strength and kindness. We meditate on His feats old and new. His promises do not grow stale.  From everlasting to everlasting—not for a moment are we abandoned behind these enemy lines!

We imagine what home will be like.  Our senses will be filled with every wonder, like the first ray of sun on the horizon after the blackest of nights: golden hills and golden streets and glorious bodies. City of light. The City of Shining Ones. No more darkness or tears or fighting. Taste, touch, and sound will flood our beings on currents of love, uninhibited by the dust of this old earth.  

But none of that compares to when I will finally see Him—face to face! I weep when I dwell on this, my heart’s most precious desire. He is the Golden Thread holding this tapestry together.  The banner I rally beneath. I have not yet seen him, but I love him.

So, I keep running home.

His faithfulness and love for me are the wellspring of my Hope. 

I will keep running home.

I won’t stop running.  

“Blessed are those whose strength is in you,

whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.

As they pass through the Valley of Baka [Weeping],

they make it a place of springs;

the autumn rains also cover it with pools.

They go from strength to strength,

till each appears before God in Zion.”

—Psalm 84:5-7(NIV)

Yes, I keep my feet turned to Zion, following after the One who makes my paths straight.  

Yes, I am far from home. But my God is not far from me.