The place where I feel safe, accepted, loved.
Traveling and going on trips is always fun,
but there is something comforting about coming home.
I love the house that my husband and I built and moved into in 2009.
Our home in rural America.
Open spaces. Beautiful sky.
There is much to enjoy about our new setting.
I am thankful. Deeply thankful.
Jesus talked about home.
A permanent home…one that moths and rust cannot destroy.
The truth is, as much as I love my house and all the stuff I have in it…
It’s temporary. It won’t last.
I am a lover of the past. I haunt antiques stores and “junk” shops.
I pour over antique pictures of other people’s families.
I’m fascinated to learn of family history. The stories enchant me.
Things don’t last. Possessions get sold at yard sales, they break, they rust,
parts fall off, and switches break. Wiring gets old and floors need refinished.
Strangers pick over family heirlooms. Names are forgotten.
But, Jesus said, “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.” John 14:2 NIV
I can not even begin to fathom what it will be like to open the door of that place.
To walk in.
To meet Him face to face,
and to finally know home.