Finding My Way Back Home

“For we know that if the tent
that is our earthly home
is destroyed…”

I’ve been in this new place for a little over six weeks now.

I knew going into this move that I don’t handle change well, and for a variety of reasons, this change seemed particularly hard and challenging and uncomfortable.

In some ways, I’ve settled into the new routine of it all much faster than I anticipated and have been able to get rid of far more [ultimately meaningless and non-essential] possessions than I thought my heart could handle.

After reading and pondering “Packing Light”, I might even consider giving up my couch when the time comes … I’ll officially cross that bridge when I get there. But the giraffe-print chair is staying. Period.

finding my way back home

But in other ways, I’m still fighting a constant battle.

I miss home. This house doesn’t feel like home yet. And as hard as it is to admit, I think there’s a big part of me that doesn’t want to make this house my home. Because it’s not exactly my home. It seems all too temporary for that, and I’m not sure I like what calling it home would represent. The duration and future at this house is just still so unknown. In all fairness, life in general is much that way as well.

But I’m willing to consider that perhaps that is exactly why I still feel so restless (of the entirely unhelpful and I-just-can’t-sit-still variety) in this new place.

That perhaps I’ve been fighting so hard against the idea of making it home that I’m winning this battle in my mind that never should have been waged in the first place.

That perhaps I have far more control over the way I feel and react towards this house than I realize.

That perhaps there’s a better reality – a truth, even – that I’m blind towards at the moment.

That perhaps I play a part in the unveiling of that truth by choosing where (and on Whom) to set my mind.

That perhaps it’s perfectly acceptable for this house that’s not mine to be a home for a season, no matter how short.

That perhaps home has far less to do with a physical house than with a state of my heart and soul.

That perhaps home has far more to do with resting in Christ where I am in this moment, wherever that happens to be.

“…we have a building from God,
a house not made with hands,
eternal in the heavens.”

I crave stability and security. I crave the comfort and familiarity of home.

But although I’m most definitely still a work in progress, I’m learning that apart from Christ, such things that I want and seek and crave just plain don’t exist.

While these things used to exist within the confines of a physical place for me, in this season of transition and a whole lot of newness, I find that the definition of home as a physical location having these characteristics is severely lacking and incomplete. This place I live isn’t my home. At least not in the sense I’ve known it before. At least not yet.

And all of those definitions of home floating around on Pinterest (you know, the ones that claim home is with the ones you love, or some variation thereof…) don’t hold up all that well for a single person with no prospective significant other.

So at its core, home must mean something else entirely.

I won’t claim to have figured out the best or most right definition for this thing we hold so dear and call home, but I suspect it has more to do with finding contentment of mind, security of heart, and comfort of soul in the person and presence of Jesus Christ than in any physical location or material thing.

And that’s not to say that the physical place we call home and those we share it with on this earth don’t matter. I think they do to some degree. A home (which looks very different person to person and culture to culture) is important. But the truth it represents is even more important. By extending the definition of home beyond my external circumstances, the transient nature of this life doesn’t dictate the settledness of my soul.

Whether I have one house or one room or nothing at all to call my own, I can find home wherever I am. Right now. Today. Because my Rock never changes and my Foundation is eternally secure.

That’s what home is really all about, isn’t it?

A constant place of haven and rest, a quiet place to dwell, a familiar place for our hearts to settle, a place where there’s freedom to just be, a place where we can be restored and renewed away from the world with all of its unending noise and demands.

So I’m finding my way back home, and as I am, I’m realizing that the place my soul is searching for can never truly be satisfied on this earth. But until I reach the completeness, the fullness, and the perfection of my eternal home, I more desperately seek Him and more tightly hold onto the promise of His presence with me always. Here. Home.

“He who has prepared us for this very thing is God,
who has given us the Spirit
as a guarantee.”
2 Corinthians 5:1&5 (ESV)

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Finding My Way Back Home

  1. Susan Stilwell

    Truth, Emily: the place my soul is searching for can never truly be satisfied on this earth. No matter where we stash our stuff, this place will never really feel like home. But how awesome will it be when that HOME-feeling, the one that God put deep down inside each of us, is finally realized in His presence!

  2. Dawn Muench

    Em- this is good, deep stuff that has implications WELL beyond even what you are putting into words so beautifully, but I expect you know that by now. It’s a little scary, right? But the good kind of scary. See you so so soon!

Comments are closed.