There is no place like oooohhhhmmmmm.  Home.  Ohm.  I don’t think it is a coincidence that they sound a like.  “Once there was a way to get back homeward.”  That ache hits me often.  The feeling that there must be a way to feel at home, but more likely I feel like an alien on the wrong planet.  Or a foster kid that never had a home.

Seeking help to be restored to sanity seems hysterical when sanity never was the situation.  Maybe ever.  Perhaps I’m just too used to insanity to be satisfied with sanity and serenity.  It just doesn’t sound dramatic or exciting enough.  But then when the noise and whirlwind dies down, the emotional hangover is a drag.  And spending a life seeking excitement is turning out to be boring.

Ahh for a middle ground of grace between boring and adrenalin-pumped.  There’s a goal.

I claim the garden chair surrounded by tiny wildflowers, under a canopy of gently waving trees, yawning pines above me.  I sit with the sun warm on my back, feet up, basking in the light of Her love.  Always hhhoooohhhhhhhmmmmmmmoooooo.