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I can think of few words more powerful to me than the word home. It is the word that gives me hope, while at the same time it seems to be nothing more than a dream. It is both unattainable and so absolutely vital to me.

When I first started my 15-year prison sentence, I couldn’t imagine ever going home. To me home was nothing more than a fantasy.

Perhaps it has been that way for me for a long time. Home was something fleeting, all too often attached to some geographic place, or some group of people. Home was something that could be taken away, or could change at a moment’s notice. Perhaps most important of all, it was something over which I had no control.

I grew up in many different places, and eventually I began to lose myself. Eventually my actions led me into a kind of self-imposed exile. The only place I was at home was in the streets. I met many people, had many experiences. I did the best thing I had done in my life until that point: I had my beautiful baby boy. That was quickly followed by the worst thing I had ever done, or maybe just the worst thing I ever got caught doing.

In any case, the state of Florida gave me a “home” for the next fifteen years. But of course this place is no home. I was more lost than ever. I began looking back at all the places I had lived, all the places I had called home, all the places others had called our home. And a strange thing began to happen. I began to search. At first I don’t really think I even knew what I was searching for.

I, like many people in my situation, began to search for a measure of faith, for a religious home. Something more permanent than the transient physical homes people like me had occupied. But so many of the faiths I tried were just too restricting, too dogmatic. For me they felt like the multitude of places that others had called my home. I didn’t move to those places willingly, and it seemed those faiths didn’t want me as I was, with all my nagging questions and doubts. I wanted so badly to find a place I belonged, a spiritual home. But the faiths available just weren’t right for me.

So once again I was homeless. At this point it was something I think I was used to. Not belonging, not fitting in, always on the lookout for the next temporary respite. So I wandered, taking a proverbial nap here or there, but always waking up in the morning feeling like this wasn’t my home, and these people were not my family. I was lost. But I was also becoming acutely aware of how badly I needed a spiritual home. After all, this body is but transient. To always seek to find home in the physical is to always be disappointed. The more I came to understand this, the more acutely I was aware that I just didn’t fit into any of the myriad “homes” around me.

Then a strange thing happened. Someone introduced me to a different faith, called Unitarian Universalism. At first I was skeptical. I mean, I found this faith in a so-called Faith Based Dorm, a dorm in which I wouldn’t live for long. (Let’s just say we spilt along religious lines, and I once again left a “home.”) But I gave UUism a chance. And I slowly began to realize it wasn’t just me giving them a chance; they were also giving me a second chance. The Church of the Larger Fellowship embraced my questions. They were not telling me what to believe. They accepted me as I am, with my questions and flaws.

And the CLF made me question myself, my definition of the very concept of home, of family, of friends. I’m not one to lightly speak of powerful spiritual moments, of miraculous signs or experiences. I may not have seen a flash of light or experienced a hallowed voice, but I truly had what was for me a miraculous moment. I remember writing an essay for a CLF correspondence course, and we were asked to imagine being locked in a subway car with a group of people forever, and to imagine them as being our people, to find acceptance with these people and to embrace them as our own. I couldn’t have asked for a more poignant exercise. It was truly an enlightening moment for me. A revelation, if you will. Wherever I am, the people around me are my people, with all their triumphs and tragedies, flaws and virtues.

The next logical step in this thinking is the understanding that home is the place where you find acceptance, not the physical space we occupy. And I have truly found a home in the Church of the Larger Fellowship. More than that, they have truly, truly helped me to become a better person. I no longer look to an indefinable and uncertain future for the promise of home. Every letter I get from the CLF, every essay I write, every time I use their teachings to help someone around me, I feel a little closer to home.

By Christopher Benson, CLF Member, Florida