We have heard the saying “Home is where the heart is” so many times we’ve lost count. Sometimes, home can be a specific place for some people, like a hometown to go back to no matter how long they’ve been gone and how far away they’ve been. But sometimes, a home is that particular place where loved ones and good friends are, regardless of whether it’s one’s hometown or not.
But what makes one truly feel at home?
Home is where one can be comfortable and carefree. It is where a teenage daughter can lift her tired feet on the sofa with her heels or rubber shoes on. It is where a hungry little boy can open the fridge freely and take whatever he fancies there. It is where a dad, tired from work, can sprawl on the bed and doze off to dreamland without thinking where the next task will come from. It is a place where a mother, after a long day tending to her family’s needs, can have a long warm bath to soothe her aching back.
Home is that imperfect place where one can be himself, devoid of pretense, devoid of fronts, devoid of trappings and masks. Never mind if the faucet leaks sometimes or the living area doesn’t have a carpet or the plates, spoons and forks, glasses and cups don’t match. Never mind if some wires snake their way behind computers or microwave ovens or tv sets. Never mind if the place is not palatial nor does it look like it came from the pages of a home magazine.
Home is where discipline is balanced by a bit of tolerance, where acceptance is tempered by responsibility, where “thank yous” are said as often as “I’m sorrys” and where failures are acknowledged and successes are praised. Home is where dreams are woven, ready to be brought somewhere else into fruition.
Of course, I want a clean and orderly house. But I also want a home which my children would look forward to visiting long before they’ve flown the coop. I want a home where they can look back to with fond memories they can share with their own families. Someday, I want them to look back to a place which made them feel good, comfortable, secured and not scared because they spilled milk on the carpet, broke the pitcher or soiled the curtains with hands wet with chocolate.
I want them to remember home is a place for sticky kisses and tight group hugs mixed with the aroma of coffee and good food. I want them to remember that is where wounds can be kissed off and bad colds can be nursed with a hot bowl of chicken soup and lemonade and asthma attacks become bearable because of loving hands gently patting the back and easing the agony.
Home is where the heart is, this is so true, I should say. It is where love - Godly and human - rules, no matter what the rules are.
If this is what our earthly home looks like, I wonder what our heavenly home is going to be?