The pipe broke in the bathroom
and then we couldn't stay.
Water covered the floor;
they worked hard to take the liquid away.
It seeped down deep
and the ceiling tiles fell in the basement.
HVAC equipment roared,
and you could've sworn that maybe the house was a spaceship.
The flood was unwanted,
an untimely Christmas gift.
Gift? Am I sure of such a thing?
Indeed, for this pipe burst is teaching me of sojourning.
A kind mentor has opened her home to me,
for as long as I need.
At night I lay my head in a bed -
and I miss my own.
In some strange way,
this is reminding me,
that this world is not my Home.
I think of Another who felt the same sentiment.
Although He was the King of the Universe,
He bowed low - coming as an Infant.
He had no bed, no place to lay His head,
just a manger and maybe some straw.
The theme continued on,
a Nomad with no true home.
Yet in His life and death and life again,
He made it so we could be one.
Where He is
is my True Home.
Even though a pipe burst
has me on sojourn.
