A blessing to many.
Painful to others.
A place to run to, or run from.
What I have learned in my 50 years here on this planet is that what this word means makes all the difference to each of us.
Home no longer means what it used to for me. It is not a building, although I love our little house with which we have been blessed, and sometime refer to it as my cozy nest.
Home is not a feeling, although it is part of the package.
Home is a person. That person who anchors you throughout the storms, supports you amidst the heartbreak, and loves you unconditionally. And although I am happily married 99% of the time, my husband is not my home, although I thought he was when we were first married.
God is my Home.
As He lives within me, I can literally carry Home any and every where I go, whether in my house, work, my car, coffee shop, grocery store, restaurant…
And because God is my Home in a sliver of the way He can be while I am living in this world, Home is ultimately where I will be living forever when I step into His embrace when I pass away.
That hope of Home is a constant flicker within me as I go about my days, when I sleep during the nights.
If you too have mixed feelings and a painful history thinking about home, ask Him to reveal Himself to you in a fresh new way.
After all, this is the season where Love came down to live amongst us, to bring Home, and eternal life, to all who choose to accept that wonderful gift of love. Asking Him to help you unwrap that gift will be His pleasure, friend.