I've been thinking a lot about the meaning of home lately. I think it all started with an activity we did with a group a few months ago. We had everyone come up with five things that mean home to you and then rank them. We then randomly took away four of them, leaving you with just one. We shared what we had written down, what we lost, how we felt when we had lost it, and what we were left with. I wasn't sure how the activity would go because it seemed a little abstract, but by the end I was fascinated by how real our situations came to feel.
It was particularly fascinating to listen to what was chosen for the list. The smell of my house. My friends. My family. My dog. My stuff. My privacy. My comfort. My safety. Home meant so much more than a physical place--it also was an emotional, a spiritual space, a place where one felt safe and loved.
The very next week I found myself yearning for this home many times. In one particular day, I felt berated with struggles and condemnation. People putting me down, my organization, my expertise, how I do my job, all consistently undermining me. And then, that night, something happened with one of my students and everything in me yearned for that safe, secure place that I could go run to, to escape all the turmoil--physically, emotionally, spiritually--around me. I wanted to go home.
If a home is truly more than a building or a place of shelter, than to be homeless means more than just losing your house. In fact, it might not even mean that. Losing anything on that list may make a person homeless: a person, a place, a feeling of comfort and safety. By this definition, how many of us are without a home? How many people don't have a place--physical, emotional, spiritual--to go to when there's danger in their life? I can't help but think that we all must have a bit of homelessness in us, or at least understand what that feeling is.
"For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from him.
He only is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be shaken.
On God rests my salvation and my glory; my mighty rock, my refuge in God.
Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us."
Psalm 62:5-8
"Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go."
"Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head."
The very next week I found myself yearning for this home many times. In one particular day, I felt berated with struggles and condemnation. People putting me down, my organization, my expertise, how I do my job, all consistently undermining me. And then, that night, something happened with one of my students and everything in me yearned for that safe, secure place that I could go run to, to escape all the turmoil--physically, emotionally, spiritually--around me. I wanted to go home.
If a home is truly more than a building or a place of shelter, than to be homeless means more than just losing your house. In fact, it might not even mean that. Losing anything on that list may make a person homeless: a person, a place, a feeling of comfort and safety. By this definition, how many of us are without a home? How many people don't have a place--physical, emotional, spiritual--to go to when there's danger in their life? I can't help but think that we all must have a bit of homelessness in us, or at least understand what that feeling is.
"For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from him.
He only is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be shaken.
On God rests my salvation and my glory; my mighty rock, my refuge in God.
Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us."
Psalm 62:5-8
"Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go."
"Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head."
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