Home
I’ve had an epiphany. Lying in a hospital bed while coming out from under anesthesia will do that to you.
I have two memories from my time in post-op recovery. One of throwing off the covers and kicking my legs free while trying to get up. Good thing there isn’t a video of this one. I’m sure I put on quite a show thrashing about in my paper gown.
The other is of lying in a groggy haze. Everything around me seemed distant and unreal. Even the pain and nausea were like a bad dream I couldn’t pull myself free from. Then from nowhere, a finger brushed my cheek. I knew without opening my eyes, my husband was with me. Soft and warm, that gentle, familiar touch let me know I wasn’t alone. I was instantly comforted. I can only describe what I experienced in that moment as the feeling of home.
I’m a homebody. Anytime I’m away on a trip, it isn’t long before I begin to long for home. There’s something about being in the groove of my own routine that brings a sense of stability to my life.
Home is where you can wash off your makeup, lay aside your dress-up clothes, and put on your stretchy pants. It’s where you are free to ramble about and raid the cupboards. It’s where you can sink down on the sofa, prop up your feet, and hang out with the people you love. But it’s more than that.
“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.”
I’ve thought about it many times over the last few days, that sensation of home in strange surroundings and an altered state, and I’m convinced that home is not a place. It’s safety, peace, and unconditional love. It’s more than a physical structure provides.
We all crave a place to call home. Even Dorothy knew there’s no place like it. Turns out, we tend to look in the wrong places. Financial stability, a nice house, a Facebook-perfect life. Jesus said that “he himself is our peace.” By his broken body, he tore down every barrier that kept us on the outside. He opened the door and welcomed us in. His outstretched arms, like the wings of a mighty bird, are a covering. In his shadow is rest and protection from the elements.
The gentle stroke of my husband’s finger against my cheek assured me I wasn’t alone in my curtain-walled hospital nook. The same is true for God’s presence in our lives. He is with us wherever we go, surrounding us, sheltering us.
No, home is not a place. It’s in the heart of the one who loves us unconditionally. Home is a Person.