they say that home is where the heart is
i guess i haven’t found my home
and we keep driving round in circles
afraid to call this place our own…
i spent the majority of my childhood in a wonderful house in the country. it sat on three acres of land, surrounding by fields and woods and miles of endless gravel roads. for an adventurous and imaginative child, this was the perfect home. i ran barefoot, built snow tunnels, made mud pies and took long bike rides to the creek. my “playhouse” was once under an awning of pine trees where i moved all my play furniture and dolls and played house.
our home was also very fragile, as my parents’ marriage continued to disintegrate. it was a place of arguing and bitterness. my time there was ended during the divorce after a terrible argument with my mom, and i spent the summer before my freshman year of college essentially “homeless.” i could not help but feel that the place of comfort i had once known was ripped from my grasp.
i went through college envious of my friends who still had places to call home, and i searched desperately for such a place for myself. as a result, i only lived with my family one summer in college, spending the rest in California doing internships. i shacked up with close friends during those years, always chasing the ones i thought would fill that void. i’ve moved nearly 16 times in my adulthood, driven by a sense of restlessness and rootlessness.
over the last decade or so of this “homelessness” i’ve come to learn that “home” is simply where i feel the most myself, where i feel at rest to just be exactly who i am. where my soul lets out a sigh of relief. most often it is with people i love, people who see me and know me and choose to love. it’s in long conversations over coffee and in tears shared. but sometimes it’s driving in the car, belting out a favorite tune or dancing in my living room or even laying in my bed. it’s in simple morning breakfasts and walking in my neighborhood, in a long run with the headphones on and picking vegetables in the garden and curling up in that big fluffy chair at Starbucks with a good book.
their is no security in this, however, which is quite contrary to our view of “home.” if i feel at home with people, i am vulnerable to their ability to not always stay, to their decision to change their mind. i am vulnerable to the seasons changing or a lease ending. i can no longer be dependant on the unchanging constancy of a place. “home” must undergo a redefining.
as believers, we are called to make ourselves in God, to know that this world is not our home. this is our stock answer when faced with the sadness that comes along with our sense of homelessness. we talk about our heavenly home and set our sights on it, convinced that means just grinning and bearing it while we’re here on earth.
after talking with a friend this morning, i’ve learned there is a very deep understanding that God only loves us under certain conditions. perhaps we don’t feel at “home” with God because we don’t truly believe He could love us just as we are, where we are. perhaps we can never truly know Home until we do….
live in me. make your home in me just as i do in you.
-jesus, by way of john 15:4