A bag full of crisps

Homesickness is hard-
a vauge sense of discontent,
longing for comfort.

Your still small voice calls,
“Come to me, I’ll give you rest.”
Instead, I eat crisps.

Oh Abba, I long
for my heart to turn to you
always and only.

Take my selfishness,
pick up my broken peices
and make me holy.

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