I’m most comfortable with my legs a mess folded below me and my hair bundled up on my head; coffee cup sat to the side of me and laptop and books in front.

I don’t know what it is about that position which brings so much joy to me…maybe too many idyllic tumblr pictures with the suggestion of a perfect life. But it is where I write best, where I process best and generally where I feel more at peace with myself.

I have taken to creating nests of blankets and cushions around me, especially over this past week which I spent confided at home ill.

Mostly I have been trying to sleep away whatever virus has been in me, but a week in bed and nests has given me a chance to catch up with myself. To think (and probably overthink) some things through. To allow my brain to day-dream and process all the notes that have stacked up in my journal over the past few weeks, months and years.

I’ve entered my third year here now, in the little village I now call home. I find that often when I talk of home I generally mean people, but recently we have just had a new influx of people while others have left and moved onto new exciting projects and lives. And I have begun to realise that even with all these goodbyes and hellos, I have carved out a actual physical place called home.

The more I say goodbye, the more time I find myself seeking that cosy nest where I manage to process life, and read more about God and Jesus and Holy Spirit. And the more I read, and pray and process, the more I begin to see why I am here, who brought me here, and what it truly means to say that I love God and choose Him above all else.

And truly I guess, that is where I have found my home. Because somehow here, amongst this constant changing group of wonderful people, in this village, I have found out what it means to seek Him and find my home in Him.




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