Part of our identity is somewhat traced to a place we can call home. Security, memories, a sense of belongingness — these are things that somehow prove that we live and that we matter.
About 1/3 of my life had been spent abroad, away from my birth country. I have lived in a number of places and moved quite a lot, whether with family or independently. Yet, I have always called my parents’ home, my home. I traveled far and long for many years but I always knew my beloved parents waited on and for me excitedly whenever I let them know I was coming home. The smell of freshly cooked breakfast every morning, the familiar surroundings, the funny childhood stories, made me long for home all the time.
Their heart was my home. That was my happy place. A place where I belonged. A place where I felt loved. A place that gave me all the comfort I needed. A place where I could be me and was accepted for being so.
When I lost my parents in a very sudden circumstance, one pressing question made me quite uncomfortable. It was a question I did not have an answer to: where is home now?
I felt so lost, as though aimlessly wandering and could not find my way back. Where is home?
Pity my soul, Lord. I prayed. I could not take this.
I needed comfort. I needed rest…and peace.
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that 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. John 14:1-3
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. Psalm 91:1
His heart — that is home. In Him, is where I belong.
Dear God, thank you for being my home. Thank you that in you I found comfort, I found rest, I found peace. Amen.
*This post is part of my 31-day Challenge: The Power of Gratitude Series. Click on the image below to be directed to my posts. Thank you for being here today!