Remember coming home from that first big trip – to the comfort and security of all that was safe in your world, to the love and celebration after a time away, to the foundation and refuge of the place you live?

Remember the joy you felt, coming down the road?

My journey to Jesus in the Eucharist started off a long way away. It was a long journey here, made one tiny step at a time. Sometimes I was crawling and other times I turned around and headed away. The road was full of twists up close, but I can look back and see just how direct it was. I was beaten and battered, my soul a small shadow inside me.

Now that I’m here, I bask in the feeling of being home. Every time I go to Mass and receive the Eucharist, I’m overwhelmed with a sense of coming home…again. I’m reminded of the journey, and of the reward of the journey.

The comfort I feel in coming home here, to the Eucharist, is a compiling of all that is good and right with the world. It’s the comfort of arms around me when I’m worried and weary. It’s the blanket of blessings when I feel desolate and alone. It’s conversation with a lover, intimate and joyful. It’s ongoing and always there – reliable as nothing else is. It’s my solid ground and my foundation. It’s my security blanket, fuzzy and worn soft from use, yet as brilliant as when it was brand-new. It’s the hope of the porch light left on, knowing that there is always someone waiting up for me, no matter what I’ve done or where I’ve been or how late it might be.