Come Home.


I need a lot of solitude. I need space and silence to breathe and think and re-group and sit aimlessly for long enough to remember and embrace the brilliant pleasure it is to be alive. When I’m busy or crowded, when my schedule runs my day, when endless chatter sucks me under, I get anxious. My soul becomes restless and needs to run. So I flee to places where I find refuge; a keyboard, an empty room and a book, an open body of water, anywhere big. Anywhere where I can sit and feel small.

I’ve been at Breakaway Lodge for over a month now. Surrounded in a community of life-giving, incredibly glorious humans. It’s an honor to watch them serve and fade into their footsteps alongside them. It’s nice to be in a room where no one takes the glory. Here, the environment is overwhelmingly humble. And because of this, the “success” of our mission is abundant. It’s palpable.

Even among the greatest of hearts, I find within me an aching to escape. A dull, steady voice whispering, “come home” every now and again. And I listen. I’m obedient to this call because it’s healing. And it’s always what I need.

If there are any words I can prescribe to you, it would be to find time to discover the murmur patiently waiting for you to acknowledge. And once you do, listen to it.

The pull it has is enduring, and because of it, I have been changed for eternity.

Come home, sweet soul.



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