Ever heard the statement:
Home is where the heart is.
The whole notion of home has been on my mind the past week or so. Where is home? If home is where my heart is, then where is my heart? In my current state of existing, I feel as if I have no “home”. I’m much to old to still be at home (meaning my parents’ home) but yet that’s where I find myself. But I’m not comfortable there. I’m not able to do what I want, when I want, and how I want. Because it’s not my home. For a lot of years, I would walk into my church and feel at home but that too, became uncomfortable. It didn’t fit anymore.
Maybe part of being at home is feeling accepted. Feeling loved. Feeling safe. Feeling like there is no other place in the world that I would rather be. Feeling like I can be myself.
Last night, I walked into my friend’s home and felt like I was at home. A feeling washed over me that I can’t quite describe in words. It was home. It was safe. It was where I can be me. It’s not about the house or the stuff in the house. It’s about the people who live in the house that make it a home for me. The moment I walk in a peace crashes over me and I am able to let down. Let down the guards that have been up all day. Take the mask off that’s been suffocating the life out of me. I come in, kick my shoes off, and lay out on the sofa. And I realize that this is what home is. This is where I feel most at home. I hope and pray that someday whenever I do have my own house, that I am able to make it into a home.
All of this has got me thinking about Heaven. Because that’s ultimately my home. If I feel the slightest amount of peace and acceptance and love from my friend’s home, I can’t even imagine what Heaven will be like. To be in Jesus’ presence, I wait for the day.
So I’m not sure if home is where the heart is. I think it’s more about the people who make the home who make the biggest difference in the heart. Anyone can have a house but not everyone has a home. I pray that everyone has at least one place that they can call home. That they can walk into and say, “hey, I’m home and it feels good.”
Home is where the heart is.
The whole notion of home has been on my mind the past week or so. Where is home? If home is where my heart is, then where is my heart? In my current state of existing, I feel as if I have no “home”. I’m much to old to still be at home (meaning my parents’ home) but yet that’s where I find myself. But I’m not comfortable there. I’m not able to do what I want, when I want, and how I want. Because it’s not my home. For a lot of years, I would walk into my church and feel at home but that too, became uncomfortable. It didn’t fit anymore.
Maybe part of being at home is feeling accepted. Feeling loved. Feeling safe. Feeling like there is no other place in the world that I would rather be. Feeling like I can be myself.
Last night, I walked into my friend’s home and felt like I was at home. A feeling washed over me that I can’t quite describe in words. It was home. It was safe. It was where I can be me. It’s not about the house or the stuff in the house. It’s about the people who live in the house that make it a home for me. The moment I walk in a peace crashes over me and I am able to let down. Let down the guards that have been up all day. Take the mask off that’s been suffocating the life out of me. I come in, kick my shoes off, and lay out on the sofa. And I realize that this is what home is. This is where I feel most at home. I hope and pray that someday whenever I do have my own house, that I am able to make it into a home.
All of this has got me thinking about Heaven. Because that’s ultimately my home. If I feel the slightest amount of peace and acceptance and love from my friend’s home, I can’t even imagine what Heaven will be like. To be in Jesus’ presence, I wait for the day.
So I’m not sure if home is where the heart is. I think it’s more about the people who make the home who make the biggest difference in the heart. Anyone can have a house but not everyone has a home. I pray that everyone has at least one place that they can call home. That they can walk into and say, “hey, I’m home and it feels good.”
No comments:
Post a Comment