This place does not look a thing like home.
It does not feel like home.
I do not want this to be our home.
The aching in my bones subsides with the closing of my eyes.
I hate to wake up.
If I could only stay asleep and be at peace.
But I can’t.
There are more to these dreams than I think I understand.
There is more to this than searching for home at the end of some road somewhere west of here.
The road calls out with hollow promises and vain beauty.
As much as I want to pack up everything and leave I know that it will be Exile wherever I go.
I know Babylon will always be Babylon if we clutch in our hands the seeds we are to sow.
I know my perception is wrong.
There is beauty in the Exile when you decide to call it home.
So let’s sow these seeds and build us a home.
Cultivate and Hope until this place reflects our dreams and quenches the groaning in our bones.