You know that feeling. . .walking into your own house after a trip. Tonight we arrived home after 5 days on the road and even my children now notice and express that inexplicable sweetness of home.
Truly it is not just one thing, but so many weaved together that make home, home. My favorite, red coffee mug. My bed. Ah, my bed. My laundry room. . .truly I love my laundry room. . .all the more for having used a laundromat on the trip! My chickens and cats, my chair, my sink, my projects, my everything. It just feels good and right and brings sweet peace to my very soul!
As I was actually basking in this fabulous feeling of immersing back into my world here on the farm. . .washing the beautiful pile of eggs, unpacking, reordering packed things, directing my children in various things, it hit me. This isn’t home. Not really. As much, and oh so much more, as that hotel is not my home. This home is not my home. My real home, my permanent, true, eternal home is heaven!
Imagine how it will feel. . .the smells of familiarity, the things of comfort, beauty and peace. We will someday go truly home and realize that all of this – the beauty, the loveliness, the hardships – all of it. It was the temporary, the hotel, the trip. Heaven is home. And I must wonder if God wants to remind us in these moments on earth where we come into our earthly home after a trip and feel that sweetness of home to remember where our home is. When we crawl into our own bed and relish the clean, crisp feel of those familiar sheets, to remember where we can find true rest for our souls.