Tiptoeing around edges of my past

Wondering, ever wondering
Are ten months enough to forsake my home…
For, it sounds like a trumpet’s lost echo
     rather than current
Former days whisper
     the SUV there, shouting about my faraway friend
     a stair there, reminding me of my brother–
All like photo frames of familiar faces,
Reminiscing of previous time.
Then people around
     endlessly asking me,
“How long are you here for,
     how long do you stay?”
And I reply with a sad smile– do they notice that?–
“Two months,”
and with their rejoicing,
I ever-wonder do they understand.
Fear lurks around undetected
Until God says, “Do not worry,”
And in pondering I saw how
Strangers did not scare me,
     as much as old faces after a long absence.
I knew what to do,
in the face of the unknown;
I had learned the art of a pioneer,
in a country not my own.
But what about the known? 
The endlessly fearful familiar?
Don’t worry,
He said. Don’t worry. 
He has covered me and will be with me,
Do not be afraid. 
Trust him down to your tippytoes.
So here I am on the couch, tumbled like the pillows,
Boiled water waiting to be poured…
Listening to distance sounds of community on a Sunday night
–like headphones not in your ears.
So here I am, lost in a book
         titled “North and South”–
and wondering which direction is really home. 
Toes no longer tipping? 
Oh my soul, remind yourself that
 it’s God 
          who’s home.