Is this really home?
A plastic bag hangs on the door
Its contents overflowing,
Dirty washing waiting to be clean.
Pictures on the walls,
Smiling faces and happy memories
Make it all a little less lonely.
But hide them all away
And what am I left with?

The calendar reminds me of the days
Longing to be lived
If only they knew how much they were dreaded.
Empty, white spaces
Full of uncertainty.
Lord, I want the strength to fill them
With colour and life,
Spontaneity.
To leave a mark on each day,
A mark that counts for You,
That makes my waking worthwhile
My expectancy, satisfied
And all for Your Name's sake.