Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.
There's no place like home.
There's no place like home.
Me and Dorothy. Compatriots.
I'm a nester, a homebody, a girl who likes to head out on adventures but wants to rest my head on my own pillow at night.
So there's been a great deal of unsettled white noise hissing at the back of my head over many months now.
That's the number of months our house on the coast has been on the market. Contracts have come and gone, some contingent on the buyers' family situation, one actually contingent on the outcome of the election.
Barack Obama apparently now owes me a contract on the house, seeing as how his election cost me the one we had on the table.
Add to that 21 months the 12 months our Oklahoma house was on the market, the 4 months we were in a tiny apartment, the 15 months we spent in a lease house on the island, the 12 months we lived in the house on the coast and the 21 months now spent in the lease house we are currently in, and you have the audio track for that white noise I was referring to.
And for this home-loving, nesting girl, all that gypsy math is tough.
We moved to our new locale 5 weeks before the twins were born. We have been blessed with incredible neighbors, a nice place to lease, a beautiful location and new adventures. We have been blessed and so I hesitate as I write this, because I don't want to come off as a whiner or ungrateful. With the economy in its present state, with mortgages melting down and jobs evaporating, I want to tread respectfully here. But I do think there are some of you out there, regardless of the state of the union, who can relate to that desire of the heart to be settled, to be able to paint a wall and mark the height of the kids' on the doorframe.
The stage for family life, the container of many memories. And our vagabond existence over the last 5 years with its attendant real estate challenges has had me struggling, struggling with what seems to be a deeply held desire within me for home. Struggling with the continual change. Struggling with trying to make big family life work within walls that can't be knocked down, changed or customized.
I've spent a fair amount of time talking to our Daddy about this, asking why if home is so important to me, it's something He's keeping at bay at the moment. I've asked that if this was the lifestyle He has for me, then why did He wire me to have such a longing for home.
And while I'm not always a great listener, I'm pretty sure this is what He's telling me.
It's not that I wasn't created with the home heart; I was. But that longing to be home, that desire to settle in, is best focused on where my real home is, the place that Jesus has gone to prepare. My Father's house.
Because even if I hadn't moved a lot as a kid, even if my folks still lived in the same house where I grew up, even if M and I had built the dream house and raised the kids there, all without any kind of locale transfer, I'd still be a sojourner. I'd still really only be holding a longer lease until my place with Him is ready. We're all just passing through, just taking our turn in the dorm. There will be a fresh crop of students on campus before we know it and we will be the alumni.
So I'm learning. I'm trying to redirect my homesick heart. I'm trying to see it all as temporary, as a mist, as a passing season.
Because my dream home is under contract. It's been signed in blood and painted in grace. It's in my true hometown, the New Jerusalem, and it's spectacular.
Won't you be my neighbor?