Being dropped off in the middle of no-where
Africa makes you feel how very far away from home you actually are. You can feel the distance. You can feel the gap that is the Atlantic
Ocean. This land is barren, desolate,
brown.
It is not my home.
How could it be? My home doesn’t involve
taking bucket “showers.� It doesn’t
involve braving fierce winds just to use the bathroom. My home doesn’t have the electricity shut off
during the day or a broken glass pain in your room which makes the cold nights
even colder. It doesn’t offer the threat
of rats, spiders, or snakes crawling into my bed at night.
My home is clean, warm, and
comfortable. It has a bathroom that is
conveniently located. It has cozy chairs
and a table to eat my dinner from. It
smells heavenly. It meets my standards
of protection and ease.
But my Father is consistently and ever
reminding that that is not my home either.
That the things that I believe describe and define a home aren’t
actually anywhere close to being a home.
A home is more than just a place; more than just comfortable mattresses
and a refrigerator.
But a home, knowing that you belong
somewhere, is an essential part of who we are.
Of who I am.
As Christians, we say over and over again,
“This world is not my home.� And that is
absolutely right. This world isn’t our
home, we don’t really belong here.
But we have to belong somewhere.
And so my Father faithfully reminds me that
this world is not my home because my
home is somewhere else, with Him. He doesn’t just empty us out with filling us
back up. He doesn’t take something without putting something else in its place.
Jack Frost writes in his book, Spiritual Slavery to Spiritual Sonship,
“God has created us to live as if we have a home. And He created that home to be with Him.�
That’s my home.
