Longing for Home

At the end of this week we will be losing our house guest who came last week with the intention of attending University here. As the reality of her decision settled in for her, she essentially realized that she is not ready to be as far away from home as she is. Something in our conversation this afternoon rang a chord of truth, but I wish I could put my finger on exactly what it was. She spoke of her desire to not have to rely on others to come and go, and to not feel on the outside of campus life (both factors of living off campus with our family rather than in a dorm). I told her, freedom doesn't come from having a car or living with a certain group of people, it comes from being free on the inside. Yes, she answered, exactly. She recognizes a lack of internal freedom and has a felt need to develop that in a secure environment, and not 2000 miles away from everything she knows. She'll come back in the Fall and live in the dorm.

My approach to life at her age (which is 18) was to screech through life come hell or high water like a car running on only one quart of motor oil. And feeling that it was a great accomplishment to do that.

No wonder so much of my life has felt like rehab.

I've seen she hasn't seemed happy from the moment we met her at the airport. So, life moves on and we have a change in plans for our Spring.

Leaving the conversation with my young friend, I visited with our 91-year-old friend, Mrs. J. in her nursing home room. Long ago she lost her husband and several siblings. She lost a daughter in 2005, and two years later to the day she lost a sister. Her brother passed away on Christmas Day, 2007. She has one sister left now, who lives in Europe. Mrs. J. is losing her eyesight and her vitality. She longs so much to go home. It seems that some elderly feel that God has forgotten about them or left them behind, much like most people they once knew. Why, why be left to linger when the desire to go home makes the dead enviable. I told her what seemed clear to me: the Lord has her still here for my sake. "Patience," she tells me. Her mother gave her this word of instruction that seems to have carried her through life and is still her support.

Patience. She tells me my children are so beautiful and I must be patient with them.

Indeed. In all of my rushing off, in all of my trying-to-accomplish, where is my focus? Where am I hurrying? To where am I rushing others off? When I push and screech through my days, what is the point? My Home is a place of pure beauty, and somehow I am here to figure out how to live there.

And one day, when I am ready, I will go there. And I will finally know fully what Home is all about.