Not My Home

Not My Home

I knew when I moved into my little rented 1920s bungalow that my stay would not be permanent. But honestly, I didn’t expect to go so soon, either. My phone rang while I was visiting a retreat site where I would soon be teaching—and I saw my landlord’s number. With very little preamble (he’s usually very chatty), he told me he’d listed my home of five years for sale and had an appointment to show it that afternoon at two thirty. And that two more buyers would be coming to look the next day.

I felt like sitting down for a good cry, but I couldn’t. I had to stuff my emotions and smile my way through another half hour of planning, then make the hour-long drive home. I pulled in to the driveway more tired than weepy. I didn’t have the energy tears would require. So I went inside, sat down on the sofa, and told my beloved pup I was sorry, but it looked like we were moving again. Because this place is not my home. Not my home.

God has a new place for me. I can’t see it yet. I don’t know where or what it will look like, or how long I will stay there. I am longing to sink my roots down deeper than I ever have before and stay, but I am moving again—and probably not for the last time. Because this is not my home.

My more-nomadic-than-I’d-like lifestyle keeps me from getting too comfortable with a place on a map, but maybe that’s a good thing. I know I have serious nesting tendencies and that I could become complacent and unwilling to venture out when God says go. So I’m looking at my things again and asking, do I really need this? And should I give this away before I go? The answers are easy: no, I don’t. And yes, I should. Because this is not my home.

One day I’ll move for the last time. One day I’ll be settled. Until then, I am my heavenly Father’s girl, and he’s leading me to the place he’s prepared for me. I know I’ll love it, sight unseen—because any place he is is home.

He will conceal me there when troubles come; he will hide me in his sanctuary.

Psalm 27:5