It's squatting in your home

You took the long way around it again. The balcony, the stairwell, the corner of the yard. Your old spot. You tell yourself skipping it is discipline, and early on it was the right call. But feel that tug from just walking past. A piece of your own home still answers to somebody else.

The cigarette moved into that spot and never paid a cent of rent. It's still living there because you keep leaving it alone. Avoiding it works for a while. But the link stays wired underneath, waiting for some awful night to catch you out there unready. You want that spot overwritten, not guarded.

Go out there now, with a job in your hands. Clean it. Sweep it, wipe it down, bag anything the old routine left behind and bin it. Two minutes of busy hands. The tug will show up right on schedule. It'll come looking for its old spot and find you doing chores.

Take God out there with you. Come out here with me. Then go back on ordinary days with a coffee, a phone call, a book. Over time the spot turns back into what it was built for. A place to stand. A place to think. Walk back inside. Your home just got bigger.