It was quite possibly the best ten days of my life. It is also equally possible that they were the most challenging, joyful, sad, beautiful days of my entire life. These fragile, fleeting moments allowed for a far more intentional dependence on Jesus as the only One who really matters and the only One who knows every intricate detail of all of our lives and loves us anyway.
This post is about home.
On Tuesday, July 22, I read Philippians 3. Though there were several things I thought and wrote about, the verse that whispered to my questioning heart early that morning was verse 20, “But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.”
I always thought home would be the place I felt the most comfortable in, the place that held the sweetest memories, or the place that my heart felt the safest, happiest. And though home can be all of these, it is far more than any of these. Home is far less of a place and more of a person—more specifically, Jesus Christ.
There are places that will always hold more of my heart than other locations. For me, Myanmar will always be known as the place of beautiful worship to Jesus, precious orphans, and the place where I began to find healing from my past—thanks to God and Pastor Brad. Lake Michigan, El Golfo, Bethlehem Baptist Church, a cemetery, and a remote pond in a farmer’s field all contain larger pieces of my heart.
But none of these places are home. None of them ultimately satisfy. None of them could possibly still my restless soul forever. None of them could ever, completely, fully be home.
The only reason they hold such a special place in my heart is the Person at the depths of these places. These places are home precisely because they are markers of life-changing events. Home because of Jesus.
More than anything last week, I realized that home is where Jesus is, where His people are. Not so much a place but a Person. Jesus = home.
Jesus, may we be so Yours that any place with You is home.