Monday, January 31, 2011


I've been thinking a lot about the word "home" lately.  With a new job and an incredibly long commute, it seems I am coming face to face with another reality of my grieving need to move out on my own again.

Part of me is excited about getting established in a new place; most of me is scared, just plain fearful.  My home will never look and feel like it once did; an important part of that home is no longer on this earth.

I cannot begin to express my gratitude for having my parents home to turn to in my great hour of need.  The night after Tony died, I arrived there with only the clothes on my back.  And by the next day, my dad made sure I had a bed and a room set up.  My parents did whatever it took to prepare a place for me. Just as they had for 22 years before I "flew the nest," they once again gave me a home.

To me, home means that I have a place to call my own, that there is a level of acceptance and comfort, that it is a refuge from the trials and strains of life.  Home ensures that there is room for me.

I was overcome with tears recently while reading these words of Jesus from John 14:1-4:

“'Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.'”
I've read these verses so many times; and honestly, I always pictured some cheesy Barbie dream house mansion nestled on a large puffy cloud with long-bearded, long-haired Jesus waving from the front door. 
It wasn't until I intimately knew one of those rooms' inhabitants, my Tony, that my view changed.  Jesus reminds me in these verses that there is a home for me in heaven; and it's home because there is a room with my name on it. 

And in that assurance, I find comfort; I rest.  I don't really need to know what my room will look like; I know it is more than I could ever fathom or comprehend on this earth.

It is my greatest desire that everyone chooses, by faith in Jesus, to have a room with his or her name on it too. There's certainly plenty of room.

Dearly loved, and longing for home,

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