Still called Home.

From near and far we come, streets filling with hymns once forgotten, voices rising together, Echoing the sound of Khawmpi in the whole hamlet. Amen finding its way home after long years of silence. Yet not all feet walk toward this light. Some wander these same streets at night, hands empty, hearts dulled, clothes worn out, seeking escape in smoke and powder, not knowing the weight of their own worth, not hearing how precious their breath still is. It's funny how We sing, and we remember— that one of our own is being laid to rest, One chair stays empty. One voice arrives only in memory.It is strange how one day holds two songs. In the morning, we gather to praise, best clothes pressed, voices lifted toward heaven, Shoulder to shoulder in faith. By evening, the same steps slow. The same hands that clapped in worship fold in silence. The same voices that sang hallelujah tremble while saying goodbye. Our worship carries many absences. Those we lost. Those drifting away. And in this strange, sacred crossing— between song and silence— we learn how precious life is. Resonating- You are still called. You are still seen. You are still loved. You are still called home. @preciousjewel