A mud hut.
A one room apartment.
In a city.
In a gated community.
In a desert.
The classification of "home" is negotiable.
Some could never consider a home, no matter what kind it was, truly a "home" if it were in a city. They feel made for the open air of the country. Some could never feel truly at home living near the ocean because they simply must have the hustle and bustle of honking horns, taxis, endless walking of pedestrians and the echo of heels striking the pavement to feel at peace. But most would never consider the meaning of "home" to be negotiable for them. It must have a sense of familiarity to feel "homey". Comfort zones are built around the familiar, and from the time we are infants, we are brought up to feel that we must be at home in our "comfort zone" to feel happy, fulfilled or at least to keep us from having a total emotional breakdown.
For me, "home" has taken on an unexpected twist. The American Dream, white picket fence, idea of home is what I and what most have grown up with. Graduate. Have goals. Get a job to achieve those goals. Get married. Buy a house. Have kids. Get a dog. Oh... and don't forget the white picket fence surrounding your "home". Nobody said anything about running through the streets of a 3rd world market place dodging hecklers (because you're the only foreigner in the place), getting grabbed by beggars, bumping into rice sacks (not realizing that there is actually a person walking underneath until the last second), hopping over the produce sitting at your feet and sweating through the shirt you just put on 5 minutes before in the extreme heat-- all because you needed tomatoes. This is where I live most of each year... so this is "home" right? Or is home the American Dream that I came from?
Home is negotiable.
I have referred to both America and Africa as home all in the same week, and I don't know if that will ever change, because deep down at the root of it all- neither qualifies as home.
Home is where we feel complete and whole.
Home is where we feel comfortable.
In a state of rest.
In a place of peace.
And I have come to realize that I will never feel at home anywhere. And may I dare say that I am not meant to feel at home anywhere?
David said, "Cast me not from Your presence."
Moses said, "If Your presence does not go with us, do not bring us up from here."
The Bible says that Jesus often withdrew to "lonely places" to pray (Luke 5:16). Do we think it was because He wanted to go somewhere where He would feel lonely? I think it was much more than that. It's those "lonely", not so "homey" places, when we are away from the hustle and bustle of the "normal", the familiar, our comfort zone, that God meets us. And I can tell you that in those moments... in those beautiful "lonely places"... We are never alone.
It's in the "lonely places" where "rest" takes on a new definition, because we only have His promises and not on our outside circumstances to rest in. It's there that He promises us- "Where your treasure is there the desires of your heart will be also." (Luke 12:34)
He is our treasure.
I have a whole new understanding of these words that I have heard since childhood:
"The kingdom of heaven is like TREASURE hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again and then IN HIS JOY went and sold all he had a bought that field." Matthew 13:44
And so, I do it all over again... year after year... transfer from one place that's not quite home to another that is even further from home... because they aren't and they will never be. I do it because HE is home. His Presence is home. The human definition of "home" is negotiable... my place in Him never is.
