Lord, help me find my way back.
For too long I have trudged through the trash heap of long ago pain;
consoling myself with memories;
ignoring the signs that could lead me out of this place,
signs faded with the passage of time.
I have forgotten the person you created me to be ~
instead of rejoicing in my uniqueness, I danced a somber dance;
rejoicing instead in my failures;
drawing those around me into “poor me” mantras ~
hoping to exorcise the darkness within.
I prayed so long and I waited. .
I waited but no answer did you make,
at least not the one I’d hoped.
Like a defiant child I stomped my foot with cries of “I can do it myself”;
believing I was the center of my universe. . .
the universe You created. . .not me.
So, further down the road I walked
and found my refuge here;
among the weeds and thorns of my life;
painful, yet familiar,
easier to stay and adjust my eyes to the darkness;
unwilling to reap the love You sowed along the way. . .
Long ago Your song sounded sweet in my ears and familiar to my heart;
how I longed to hear that song again. . .
But I remember someone once said, “You can never go home again”.
I know pride was my great deceiver and I followed where it led,
too embarrassed to turn back and seek Your face. . .
Anyway, what’s the point? “You can never go home again”.
I’m so tired and alone; ashamed of the mess I made.
I want so much to be with you, to swallow this pride and start my long journey back, back to the home I left so long ago. . .
“You can never go home again”.
I turn to You O God and I pray; not with words but with every breath I take
With every beat of my heart I want to go home again. . .
Just when I was beginning to believe I could never go home again, I heard your song. . .
Words so loud and clear, so familiar, so full of love.
“Come back to me with all your heart! I have prepared a place for you, come and
Can it be the long-awaited epiphany has come?
I realize now that you were there all the time; not one “I told you so” on your lips, only this question. . .
“When are you coming home?”
Sandy Ozanich – copyright 2012