I love to be home. I love my comfy workplace, with the morning light streaming through the windows, or even the soft patter of rain when I am dressed warmly, and wearing wooly socks. I love to go out on the deck in the afternoon and sit in the sun. My cat will see me from his hiding place and come alongside to flick his tail and curl around me. I like to putter in my kitchen, try new recipes, or take my knitting in front of a good British crime drama.
I've always loved home. I wasn't the kind of teenager who felt ashamed to spend a weekend night home with my family. I liked to watch a good old black and white movie or hole myself up in my room, writing or reading. I love to visit friends and family, but it's always so nice to be home.
God gave me a disposition to enjoy this homey life. Perhaps other women feel like I'm detracting from the women's movement in general because I don't have a career. I'm 49 years old, and getting more curmudgeonly as the days go by. I'm learning to ignore such sentiments.
There is something very comforting to my soul in this quiet, homey life. It's not that I cut myself off from the world or ignore it. Every day I live as a Christian, I participate in this world. I raised three productive, hard-working children. I hope I'm a considerate, friendly neighbour. There are a lot of ways to contribute; not all of them are a pursuit for recognition or achievement.
When I was growing up, we moved a lot. How I envied those who had a "home town." I always felt so disconnected because I was the new kid every few years. The closest thing I have to a home town is my aunt and uncle's farm; it's the one geographical place that has remained consistent my entire life. And yet, that can never completely satisfy my deepest longings. No hometown could because that's not ultimately where I'm created to be. There a home in eternity that waits for me.
When Jesus was preparing to leave his disciples, he comforted them with the reminder that he would return to bring them home with him. There would be a place waiting for them:
Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God;believe also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also. (John 14:1-3)
A home waiting for us. That is a beautiful thing; a reassuring thing. A place where we belong.
On Tuesday, I was away almost all day. By 5:15, as I made the hour long drive home, I was eager to arrive. There was a place waiting for me; a white house on a street lined with large maple trees. There was a cat waiting in the shrubs, wondering why I wasn't home. I knew a happy little Beagle would run to the door when I opened it. My husband would arrive later. I looked forward to those things as I drove.
One day, I will be glorified and residing in my eternal home. I don't know what it will be like. People write books speculating, but I don't know if they're right. Do I care if there are pets in heaven? I just want to be where God has always intended for me to be: with Him. What will that be like? I don't know.
If it's the tiniest fraction as good as that feeling when I pull into the driveway after an absence, it's going to be pretty amazing.