Through the Fog

Tag: inner peace

  • The Long Way Home

    I spent years

    looking for home

    in other people.

    In their words.

    Their promises.

    The way they looked at me

    when I still believed

    I could be saved.

    I thought belonging

    was something you found.

    A place.

    A person.

    A feeling you could hold onto

    long enough

    to stop feeling lost.

    But every road

    led somewhere temporary.

    Every answer

    turned into another question.

    And every time

    I built my life

    around something outside myself,

    it left.

    Or changed.

    Or taught me

    that nothing stays exactly

    the way you need it to.

    So I kept wandering.

    Through heartbreak.

    Through bad decisions.

    Through years

    I barely recognize now.

    And somewhere along the way,

    I realized something.

    Maybe home

    was never a destination.

    Maybe it was learning

    how to sit with myself

    without needing to escape.

    Learning how to forgive

    the person I became

    while trying to survive.

    Learning how to stay

    when every instinct

    told me to run.

    It’s not easy.

    Some days

    I still feel like a stranger

    in my own skin.

    Some days

    the past feels louder

    than the future.

    But less often now.

    Because little by little,

    I’m finding my way back.

    Not to who I was.

    To who I am.

    And after all these years,

    that feels a lot like home.

  • Grace in the Now

    God lives inside you—

    you already found Him.

    In the quiet refusal to give up.

    In the breath you took

    when quitting would’ve been easier.

    In the part of you that still reaches

    for light

    even with shaking hands.

    You keep looking outward,

    as if holiness only exists

    somewhere far away,

    but grace has been pacing your chest

    this whole time,

    patient,

    unimpressed by your doubt.

    The devil lives in memories.

    In the old scenes he replays

    until they feel prophetic.

    In the nights he convinces you

    that what hurt you once

    gets to define you forever.

    He doesn’t need claws or fire.

    He just hounds you

    with what already happened.

    With words you can’t unsay.

    With moments you survived

    but never forgave yourself for.

    God doesn’t shout over that noise.

    He waits.

    In the present.

    In the now.

    In the choice to stop letting yesterday

    put its hands around your throat.

    You aren’t lost.

    You’re distracted by echoes.

    And every time you choose this moment—

    every time you stay—

    you loosen the devil’s grip

    and remember where God has been

    all along.

    Inside you.