God’s Home
By Christopher Towsley
I was looking at a long road
well after dark.
I had gotten it out of drive,
now couldn’t find park.
I got out on the shoulder,
but I didn’t feel alone.
All I had to do was think
about God’s Home.
More people tend to call things theirs,
when His, is what they are.
Some others fly clear out of sight,
like a shooting star.
I can’t begin to understand,
My sins He could atone.
But I think I might,
on a road at night,
outside God’s Home.
I too have quickly turned My head,
and out the corner of My eye,
I thought I might have seen Him,
as He hurried by.
In fact I’m almost certain,
that the ending to My roam,
halted abrupt
when I re-upped
at God’s Home.
It seems I am no stranger
to a low and wicked shot.
But above it all,
I hear the call,
to remember what I’ve got.
And as I get older,
seems like over My shoulder,
a familiar comforting tone,
seems to fill the air,
with the need to care,
about God’s Home.
I know about this feeling
for I know You feel it too.
And We shouldn’t feel like many
but a few.
And although the numbers vary,
We are all in fact His clone.
And He wants Us to sit,
together, in it.
Inside God’s Home.
And tonight I may be standing,
on a lonely desolate road.
With nothing but that feeling,
shoulders squared to the load.
My apparel might be threadbare,
I could be weary to the bone.
But I know inside,
I will get a ride,
back to God’s Home.
