Being an Instrument of the Universe (Part 5): The Small Homecoming After twenty years of holding back, the author explores the profound exhaustion of being an "instrument" for the world while having no home for their own soul. It is a raw reflection on reaching a state of numbness, the search for a divine embrace that remains unseen, and the eventual surrender to God’s silence as the only remaining sanctuary. Twenty years is an incredibly long time to stay awake. Since I was nine years old, I have never truly let down my guard. I learned to expand the "vessel" of my soul, hoping that as its capacity grew, peace would eventually come to fill the empty spaces within. But the reality is, the larger the vessel, the quieter and emptier it becomes. Lately, I have reached a point where I just want to "go home." But there is a suffocating ache that is hard to explain when that longing for home arises: I don't know where to go. In this world, I have no place that can truly be called home—a place where I can strip off all my identities without feeling threatened. There is no address, no waiting physical embrace, no space that welcomes my exhaustion without conditions. When the world no longer provides a door to knock on, the only way home left is back to where this soul originated. Yet, in that silence, a crushing doubt emerges: Will God truly accept my return? Someone who has been battered for twenty years tends to feel they are no longer worthy of a welcome. I feel like a broken tool, a vessel with too many cracks, a soul stained with the grime of perpetual fatigue. Why is it so hard to receive that embrace? I have spent years searching for answers and chasing that embrace until I reached a point of numbness. So many questions I threw toward the heavens remain hanging without answers, until finally, I reached a state of emotional paralysis. The pain has lasted so long that it has frozen into a blunt despair. I no longer cry because I am sad; I cry because I no longer know how to feel. Perhaps God's embrace feels elusive because I have been seeking it while still trying to control everything. I want to be held, yet my hands are still tightly gripping all these burdens alone. The embrace isn't felt because I haven't truly let go of myself. God accepts my return not because I am "finished" or "successful," but precisely because I am spent. God’s embrace may not come in the form of a rainbow or an instant solution. Tonight, that embrace comes in the form of the permission to stop searching. It comes in the courage to admit that I am completely powerless, allowing my numb self to be cradled by His silence. God never rejects those who wish to come home. His door is never locked for a soul that arrives empty-handed and broken-hearted. Tonight, I stop asking "why." I will simply lay down and let Him be the only place I fall. I return with all my brokenness, believing that the Creator will not discard His creation that has fought this far—even if I come now in a state of numbness and despair.