It is good to be home.

I was on a journey this past week, geographically and personally. A week is long enough to be away from home. I spoke 3 times in a church I had never been to before. There were some God moments and human connections; I even made a new friend. I saw an old friend I hadn’t seen in years. I spent a few days with my siblings and parents – some are moving into a new home, others are having to move because of sad circumstances. My mom was hospitalized for an overnight. It was scary but I was glad I was there. At the end I debriefed it all with my long-time and closest male friend and then spent 15 hours on the road, in the air, and in airports, longing for home.

It’s good to be home. Home is such a rich metaphor for many things. They all get jumbled up for me. Home is a house in Abbotsford, BC [although I always say, “when they spread my ashes over the Pacific it will be prairie dust!”] Home is a place of safety where I can go to sleep and not fear. Home is where I can hold and be held for a long time without being claustrophobic. Home is knowing there is constancy even when I’m away, although new flowers are blooming, the garden is up, the grass has grown, and so have the weeds! Home is where I eat and putter and will always be accepted no matter what I say [not like a blog where I don’t feel at home at all!]. The safest home of course is our home with God. I wasn’t prepared to let my mother enter that home too personally, but then again, are we not always home with God? Maybe death is just like moving to a more inner room. She is back home now. See what I mean about jumbled!

Unfortunately churches, institutions, hospitals – the places we create for safety are not always so. The following is part of a larger poem I wrote after one of our geographical moves that also included a new theological and denominational home.

My heart is home.

Your home is safe,

I can call it mine;

I’ll rest a while

even though I journey

I’ll always be home

with you.

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