Coming Home

It’s early. I’m waking up. Dad is singing in bed again.

I’ve wandered far away from God,
Now I’m coming home;
The paths of sin too long I’ve trod,
Lord, I’m coming home.

Down the hall, I join in for the chorus.

Coming home, coming home,
Nevermore to roam;
Open wide Thine arms of love,
Lord, I’m coming home.

Dad: My soul is sick, my heart is sore,
Together: Now I’m coming home;
Dad: My faith renewed, my hope restored,
Together: Lord, I’m coming home.

Once more with feeling.

Coming home, coming home,
Nevermore to roam;
Open wide Thine arms of love,
Lord, I’m coming home.

– I forgot the second verse.

He says.

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About Morbid Optimist

My name is Katryna Mary Brooke Ormiston. I am 35 years old and after living in Vancouver for a decade, I am returning home to my 81 year old father’s hobby farm on Vancouver Island to care for him in the final stages of his life. This blog is to document my journey, process my experiences along the way and hopefully share and feel connected to a community beyond the three and a half acres I find myself on. A message in a bottle in the cyber-sea.
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2 Responses to Coming Home

  1. vicki pierobon says:

    Brought a tearful smile-and some ‘singing along’

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