The old saying “Home is where the heart is” has been ringing in my ears for the last hour or so. You see, I am on odd breed—I am never “home.” If I am at my house in Calera, my house in Korea is home. When I was living in Korea, Pelham was home. I am, in essence, homeless. Maybe part of it is my semi-bohemian childhood—never the same house for more than 4 years. Maybe it is an indication of my souls’ condition. Maybe… I was “created for a place I've never known” to borrow a quote from This is Home, by Switchfoot (thanks, Lindsey!). This sense of homelessness is tiring.
Home, truly, is where your heart is. And my home should be in the embrace of God—my savior, father and life’s breath. And yet, here I am—homeless. Seeking the place that keeps my soul at rest. Why is it that I can’t seem to find my home? Is it because finding my home means giving my heart—part and parcel to God? Is it because it means that I will be giving up the control over my life?
The song continues:
And now after all
My searching
After all my questions
I'm gonna call it home
And then, like a ton of bricks, it hit me—I am homeless by choice. I have chosen this life of semi-servitude. I have chosen to take the world’s unstable promises built on desperation instead of the promise of His everlasting shelter. It is MY choice to call Him home.
Choice is a dangerous thing. I am free to choose every last detail of my life—because Jesus chose to redeem me on the cross. At any point, Jesus could have left the cross and the tortuous pain that was separation from God. And yet He chose to stay. He chose to give me the freedom that I now use to walk away. Choice has brought me a lot of joy—I know my God and creator of all things. But, choice has gotten me into a lot of trouble, too. Why is it that I can’t allow my heart to find its’ way home?
In Psalm 61, David cries out to God—he says:
Hear my cry, O God;
listen to my prayer.
From the ends of the earth I call to you,
I call as my heart grows faint;
lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
For you have been my refuge,
a strong tower against my foe.
I long to dwell in your tent forever
and take refuge in the shelter of your wings.
My heart continually echoes David’s cry. I long for God to be my “rock that is higher than I,” and my refuge, my tower. I long to dwell in the tent of the Lord forever. I long to go home.
