My true home of all homes is with the Lord in Heaven one day.
But I live here, in a suburb, with a husband, having done so over 30 years now. Part of “home” during those years was moving a few times, between suburbs. Also, it was raising two sons, now young men. It was having friends over quite a bit, for food, fun and church gatherings. It has been full of our ups and downs of family life, and of marriage and extended family–births, deaths, weddings, illnesses–some far from this “home” but still in a sense our “Home” on this planet.
We find that comfort with each other wherever we are–when it is comforting. And, of course, home can be difficult at times and we’ve had those seasons too, as everyone does. We have sinned against each other by failing to truly love always, by fits of selfishness and blind spots. Every family does, no matter how holy, happy or healthy. I am glad I can just say that out loud to this degree of “public.”
It is good to be as honest as we can; real love is truthful. I am grateful for that strong value of vulnerable openness that is actually our way to healing. Hiding and wearing masks seems protective at times but it really just isolates us, taking away some of the best of what “home” is meant to be–safe, where we can all admit truth, even the less comforting truth, when we need to. “Home” means that place of non-judging acceptance.
Our church families over the years have also definitely been mainstay kinds of temporary “homes” for us, also imperfect like other families, but still where we find “home.” This extends to the larger family of Christian believers all over the world and throughout history. We are truly family but we are not truly “Home” yet.