I remember when I was a teen, a crazy one at that! My parents and my home felt like a corral from which I wanted to break free. I wanted to be independent and live out in the world that I just new was waiting for me. And I did just that; rarely looking back, feeling like I could finally breathe.
And now decades later, after my education, my job, my marriage, and having my kids, I often long for home. I want to hear my parents’ stories and laugh with my brother and his family. Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband with all my heart and the life we are living. But there’s just something about “going home” to the corral that contains unconditional love, comfort and security. It’s where the family gets together and the new generation of kids roam free.
I thank God for these visits, because all too quickly they become mere cherished memories. And as we pull out of the driveway to return to the life that I set out to build so long ago, I look out my window back at that corral that once kept me contained… I shed a gentle deep kind of cry. That corral means the world to me. I think to myself, why ever did I want to leave?