Searching for Home

Every now and then, especially around times of transition, I think about the concept of "Home."  Is it where I'm from?  But what if I moved a lot?  What if I am still moving a lot?  Or is it a state of mind or a sense of belonging to a community, overcoming geography?  It's been interesting to think about these things as people come and go in my life, and the landscape around me changes.


I was reading a few pages in one of my journals from Yap, and came upon this scene from spring break last year, when we were visiting the tiny islands of Ulithi, outer islands of Yap.  We had taken a little motor boat from the island of Falalop, where we were staying, to an even tinier island nearby called Asor.  We spent the day looking around, literally (and easily) walking the length of the island, besides a few hours of snorkeling.  About 70 people lived there, and of course were all related.  They were also related somehow to our friend and teacher, Patty, who was with us.  Whether she was our ticket to great hospitality, or whether they were just genuinely gifted, I am not sure.  But they were so kind and open.  The kids played with us, one of the older patriarchs chopped up some coconuts for us to drink and eat, and they talked and laughed with us like old friends.  The scene I will never forget was getting back into our little boat to leave that evening, and looking back toward the tiny island of Asor.  Sillouhetted hands raised from the beach, waving farewell, with the sunset beyond.  I felt such a strange sensation--like I was leaving Home.

How is that possible?  That in some places, with some people, home is only minutes or hours away.  And other places and people, Home feels impossibly distant.

Vulnerability, openness, and acceptance.  Entertaining strangers as if they were angels.  Treating others as you would want to be treated.  I think it is hard to find these things in our culture, and it is also hard to express them.  I am afraid of bothering you, and you don't want to get involved in case I am messy.  Everyone looks so potentially complicated we can barely look a stranger in the eye and say "hello," much less invite them home for dinner.

I guess one thing I've learned about Home is that it is feeling accepted, even if I don't look like I belong, and even if I really don't.  Home is a grace that overlooks my deepest insecurities about who I am, and says, "You're ok here.  I want you here--not because of what you have to offer Me, but because of what I can give to you.  I know you might hurt Me, but that is a risk I am willing to take, because you need a place to belong.  So come, sit down.  Let Me hear your heart and be part of your story."

Home is ultimately my Heavenly Father.  But, by His grace and presence, it can also be felt in a community of Christians known as the church.  And yes, even I myself can be a little Home, or a little reminder of Home--a quiet, safe place of rest in a world of indifference and rejection. 

Lord, help me to dwell in You as my Home, and give me the grace to shelter others who are also searching for You.