Home...

I had a conversation tonight about "home." We talked about my anticipation of returning to Tennessee, the difficulty of leaving this place and the fact that no place in this world is really "home" for a Christian. The bible tells us we are strangers in this world, and our home is someplace else. We talked about how we try in every way to make this place our home, but to no avail. That conversation reminded me of something I wrote in December 2007, so I'll share it with you:

“Home” December 17, 2007

Home...it’s a place of comfort and familiarity. As children, we get scared at a sleepover and say, “I want to go home.” As adults, we toil through our day and eagerly anticipate the relief and security of home. Home…it’s where my burdens are lifted and my wounds are healed. It’s where I find those who know me best and love me most.

My parents still live in my childhood home. In fact, our family is the only one that has ever lived there. I realize the day will probably come when someone else lives in that house. That will be a difficult day. Strong feelings are tied to that place. It’s my home.

A scene in “Saving Private Ryan” draws attention to the intensity of our need for home. As a soldier lies dying in the arms of his friends, he cries out, “I want to go home!” In the midst of terror and pain his only desire is to go where he’s safe and he calls to the one person who symbolizes that safety…“Mama!”

I haven’t been involved in battle between nations, but I have battled other forces. Dark, spiritual forces regularly bombard me with their fiery darts. They attempt to lure me away from the life and love I have been called to experience. I have also been in battle with my own body.

Pain is a powerful thing. It can focus your attention like nothing else. Prolonged, intense pain can lead you to places you didn’t know existed. It can lead you to the end of yourself. I’ve been there, and I cried out, “Lord, I want to go home!” I was counting on His promise that this world with its suffering is not my home. He promised that my home is elsewhere. He heard my cry. He comforted me and carried me through, and our relationship is stronger because of the valley I was in.

Experiences like that have led me to ponder what “home” really means. The Karate Kid said, “Home is where you hang your hat.” I suppose he meant that wherever you find a place of rest is home enough.

But I’ve discovered something. We may hold emotional attachments to a particular place, but it is not the structure that was home. It was the people who shared that space with us. Home is not “where I am” but “who I’m with”. Home is not a place. It’s a presence. It’s the presence of love and acceptance, of security and familiarity.

My Savior promised to prepare a home for me to use after I leave this world. Yet what makes that place my home will not be the unimaginable splendor. It will be His presence that makes it my home. My home is wherever I am with Him. Even in this world with all its pain and disappointment, I can be at home.

In Matthew 11:28, Jesus says, “Come to Me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

With Jesus, I’m always home.