It’s been about two years since my sisters and I helped our parents move from their home of almost twenty years. I think that may have been the longest they ever lived in one place.

The day they moved, I walked up the hall from the bedroom where I slept for five years, and observed the bare walls. The dated pictures of my sisters, my parents and me had been removed and packed away…just like so many times before. I’m not certain how many houses I lived in during my growing-up years, but the number is somewhere around ten. Each time we moved, I observed the bare walls, signifying that a home had simply returned to a house.

When people ask me where I grew up, I stammer, and usually mutter something about central Alabama. I lived from one side of the state to the other, leaving scattered pieces of me behind, collecting friends I’d rarely see again.

As I think back on many of the towns and houses we lived in, the churches my dad pastored, and the people we knew, there are many good memories. However, in retrospect, it seems that each time we moved, we were running. I’m not sure if we were running from something bad, or to something good…or both. Either way, I learned early not to trust anyone but myself.

I’ve spent the past two years examining my life, my experiences, my beliefs. It has been and continues to be much like peeling back the layers of an onion. Just when I think I’ve reached the core, there’s another layer to peel:

• the strong doses of religion I’d been spoon-fed
• the painted smile I’d learned to wear
• the secrets I’d been told to keep
• the hurting heart I’d learned to hide
• the empty feeling that comes with not having a home to go back to
• the lack of intimate love, but a focus on good behavior

With the peeling of each layer, my heart becomes a little more exposed and raw. Through this process, I’ve realized that hell is more than fire and brimstone. Hell on earth is cold…surrounded by people, yet lonely…a house filled with beauty, yet an empty home.

Unfortunately, way too many people know exactly what hell on earth feels like. If you’re one of them, I know what you’re going through, and this is for you:

Last fall, my songwriting partner and I wrote “No Words To Tell” based on a conversation synonymous to the post above. It’s a deeply personal song for me, but the few times I’ve had opportunities to sing it live, the responses have been moving. I’m giving you an opportunity to hear it here since it’s not yet been recorded. Please listen and let me know what you think.

Linking with Emily for Imperfect Prose: Redemption