October 3, 2010 - Psalm 68:5,6 - Home

"Father of orphans and protector of widows,
is God in his holy habitation.
God give the desolate a home to live in..."

Well, so far I qualify. Both my parents have passed on; my husband as well. While I'm not so sure about the "desolate" part, I have been thinking about "home" a lot.

Home. There is something about the word that conjures up nostalgic feelings, even if you never had what you are nostalgic for. A white house with green shutters, wraparound porch, white picket fence, dinner on the table at 6:00 and a cozy fire in the fireplace.

I didn't have that. Did you?

While I will not dwell on the "home" of my childhood, which was not just one, but several houses, apartments, or other places to sleep, it seems appropriate at this time of my life to ponder just what, or where, home might actually be. Especially now that I'm about to lose mine. Where will "home" be for me?

I've moved around a lot. I guess I was born with my father's itchy foot. The longest I ever stayed anywhere, in the same house, was up in Northern California where I lived for 18 years. A lifetime. When I was a kid I don't remember ever having Christmas in the same house twice. So, for me, 18 years was a very long time indeed.

I learned in Maine that people are more important than place. Don't get me wrong - I LOVED Maine. I got the summer and the fall of 2001, and I might have stayed after 9/11 if I had somebody to stay with, or for. But I didn't, and so I came "home."

People are still more important than place. Now that I'm getting ready to retire, I can go anywhere I want. I have a lot of options. Maybe too many. What I WANT is not feasible, simply because of finances. So, what I will "settle" for will depend on many things. I may not end up with my "people." I may end up somewhere entirely different.

But...enough about my situation. Back to defining "home," if such a thing can be done. Some years ago, when I was doing prison visitation work, I went to Philadelphia every year for a workshop. The workshop was usually held in October, when it was often quite chilly. Many "homeless" people made a home for themselves in the alcoves of stores, or created a "home" out of cardboard boxes. I remember one woman who had her alcove fitted out with shelves on which to store her few possessions. So, home, I guess, is wherever you create it.

They say home is where the heart is. I suppose that's true enough. The problem is, what if your heart is scattered about the country, in a zillion different places? It's difficult to be content when you are being pulled in so many different directions. Santa Barbara, Connecticut, Redding, Arkansas...where is home for me?

I know many people who have been in the same home for years. Chip's parents lived in the same house for over 50 years and were perfectly content there. Others, like me, are restless souls, never quite content anywhere. Always looking...the grass is always greener somewhere else.

I wonder if this restlessness is more than a temporal thing. I wonder if the restless search for "home" in this world is simply a soul-deep, spiritual longing for the next Home. Now, I do not claim to know what God's Home is like. I don't think anybody on earth knows that. I don't think God's Home is paved with gold and has pearly gates and people are hanging out on the clouds playing their harps. But I do think that God's Home truly is where the heart is. I think we carry a bit of God's Home inside us, a remembrance of Where we came from, and Where, God willing, we shall return.

No matter where my finances take me, no matter where I end up, or how many places I end up before God calls me Home, I know that one day, I will be content in the only place where my real Home is - with Jesus.

Blessings, Phoenix