What makes a home? Is it the structure that holds the walls togther? Could it be the people inside? I find that a home does not merely exist to house a group of related strangers, but rather to draw out explicit joy and laughter from each soul. A home does not have to be a structure with four walls and a roof. It does not have to have a display of dishes, linens, and books. A home is a place where one’s soul dwells. It is a place of depth and vulnerablility.
While walking in the woods one day I found a leaf lying in my path. It was as if God placed it there for my sole enjoyment. After picking it up and upon examination, I found the veins of that maple leaf spelled out my name. At that moment, I knew I was home. In the silence, I was smiling and laughing out of sheer joy for the simplest and strangest of things. Could it be that we have more than one home? Could it be that home is a feeling and not a place?
When I was a young girl, the old lady that lived next door took me out into her yard one day. She led me to the back yard that was covered in wild violets. After a few moments of enjoying the purple blanket that laid before us, she took my small hand into hers and bent down to the ground. With a small gardening shovel she dug up an enormous violet root. The old lady explained to me that a field of violets starts with just one root. The farther the violets spread the thicker the root becomes. She told me that I can go anywhere and do anything, but I will always have a home. My home will always be attached to me in some way. No matter how far I may run from it, I cannot hide from my home. It dwells in the center of me. My home is my soul. And where my soul is; there is my faith.
Christ is my home. He is what makes a home. Christ knows my depth and vulnerability. No matter where I go, Christ will always be with me and always be attached to me. I have no home without him. I am forever a gypsy prone to wander this earth. Christ saw me as an orphan and took me in to be his child, granting me rest and restoration in his arms.
We have a roof over our heads and family members that we never cease to love. We have displays of dishes, linens, and books. Sometimes artwork graces our walls and lamps our nightstands, but they will never carry us through. They will not understand us when we cannot speak. They will not hear us when we cry out. They will not save us. No matter how many kisses we receive as a child or intimate moments we share with our spouse, the only place we can call home is in Christ. With the door always open and with arms outstretched, we are always welcome. No matter how broken, bruised, or sick, the door of salvation never closes. The foundation of a home is the cross. Without a strong foundation, a home will crumble. In Christ, the foundation will not be shaken. It will live forever along side of Christ, in heaven- the ultimate home. What makes your home? Is it the books, and artwork, or the people inside, or is it your Savior?
