Far From Home, Close to the Father

You traded your country, your city, everything familiar, chasing a better life, and now you face a strange language, food that doesn't taste like home, a phone call that always ends in homesickness. No one warned you that starting over would hurt this much.

I don't stay behind in the land you left. I went with you in the suitcase, on the plane, on the bus, on the crossing, whatever it was. There is no border that keeps me from continuing to be the same Father, the same care, the same embrace, even on a different time zone from your family.

The homesickness is real, and I'm not asking you to pretend you don't feel it. But I want you to remember: in no country, in no new city, are you without help. While you build new roots, I am the ground that doesn't shift, the home that fits any address.