Reflection — October 7th
There have been times in my life when, for various reasons and varying amounts of time, I have been effectively homeless. This is not to say that I had no roof over my head; rather, the roof was not my home and I had no place, or space, where I felt I belonged. I existed, like tumbleweed in a wilderness, longing for rootedness.
At those times, I could identify with the writer of Lamentations: “my soul continually thinks of it and is bowed down within me.” Part of the anxiety, the ache, was due to seeing no end in prospect. I woke each day with a sense of hopelessness and struggled not to
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