Well this is foreign, yet familiar in the same way going back to visit a house you moved away from might be. The rooms maintain their proportions, but the walls and furniture are a jarring reminder that you are no longer at home.
Maybe I'm feeling sentimental, or a touch lonesome for...something. My people. It seems like these feelings come along like clockwork every winter when the pace slows down enough to really feel that you all aren't in the place that my heart feels you should be: here with me, or just down the road, or at worship where we can raise our voices together in praise. I miss us, and the years don't seem to understand that their job is to numb that.
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