Home isn’t Here.

An orphan, one without a home.
To different houses, their suitcase will roam.
When one asks, “Where do you live?”
Startled, unsure of what answer to give.
Home isn’t physical, it means much more.
It has much to do with who answers the door.
It’s those people you consider your family.
That fill up every childhood memory.
But consider those that have no place.
This “home” we explain becomes just a space.
How do they know that they’re important here?
This world so far has only instilled fear.
Disposable, is that how you you feel?
Unaware that love is actually real.
My heart cries for them understand and see.
How special they are and all they can be.
For their home is not up for anyone to decide.
They aren’t alone or abandoned, no need to hide.
The real sense of belonging is found in King.
With no precursor of the song they were told to sing.
But I long to tell orphans that they can find
Heaven’s home is also a state of mind.
It’s an unswerving anchor in the midst of a wave.
A set of keys to remove shackles, no longer a slave.
A cemented knowing that you are a treasure.
And apathy for the world’s definition of pleasure.
A crown that reminds you when you fail.
The Jesus in you will always prevail.
So all in all, I hope I can tell the world.
That no orphan exists, not one boy or girl.
Each heart is sacred, and loved and essential.
And no matter what others say, you have star potential.
So orphan, I’m permanently changing your name.
You are now God’s child, without sin or blame.
And your family is much bigger than you know.
So hold open your hand, where you go, we’ll go.

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