“Lord, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations” (Psalm 90:1).
It’s been a few weeks since two of my three boys moved to college, and they are both talking about when they’ll be home again. I’d like to pretend it’s a bit about me (isn’t it?), but I know their desire to come home isn’t so they can hug their mom – it’s rooted in their longing to settle their bodies and hearts. To just be.
Don’t we all long for that place where we don’t need to keep up an act or even a conversation? The place where we don’t have to wear shoes or pinchy clothes. The place where our favorite blanket and mug welcome us after days that tear and wear at our souls.
Don’t we all long for the place that allows us to be quiet after the loud and still after the hurry?
Sometimes the home we ache for is a place where memories and unconditional love hold the walls and ceilings together. But sometimes even when we’re in a safe, known place, our hearts aren’t calmed.
It’s those times that we understand what we’re longing for comes from a far deeper place. Maya Angelou said, “The ache for home lives in all of us,” and I think it’s because sometimes, we’re homesick even in our own dwellings.
When our earthly homes aren’t soothing the ache, we need to remember they weren’t made to heal us in the deepest places. Only our heavenly Father can minister to the longing that remains untouched even when we’re surrounded by people and places we love.
Which, of course, leads us to ask: where are we dwelling? Where are we seeking the safety of and filling the longing for home?
Because we have a God who invites us to “come home, ye who are weary, come home”(1), and the door is never locked. No matter where we’ve been and how long we’re gone, when we turn to Him, He sees us from afar and runs to greet us, to welcome us home (Luke 15:11-27).
When you truly allow God to become your heart’s home, you’ll find your life changes in ways you might not anticipate. As you settle in with God, you’ll discover these four stages of homecoming:
When I stepped out of the rental car at Glen Eyrie Castle and looked up at the Colorado red rocks, I experienced something I didn’t understand. My shoulders dropped. My body relaxed. This was a place I could stay for a really long time.
That’s a rare immediate feeling, but the same happens when you let God be your home. You feel safe. You stop holding your breath. You want to take your crumpled stuff out of the suitcase and hang it on the matching hangers because you know you’re welcome. You know you’re not overstaying. You’re part of the household. You belong.
When you make God your home, you want to stay.
“Better a day in your courts than a thousand anywhere else. I would rather stand at the threshold of the house of my God than live in the tents of wicked people” (Psalm 84:10 CSB).
After we bought our first house, which was a huge stretch to purchase and a joy to make our own, we started to notice imperfections. The foundation had a crack. The stairs were so creaky that my husband hesitated to go downstairs before anyone was awake, since they would be our alarm clock. As we walked our dog through the neighborhood, we’d regularly fantasize about our next house, choosing parts of this one and parts of that one to fashion our imaginary perfect home. As I think about that version of us, some twenty years ago, I see that practice kept us from fully settling in.
When you let God be your home, you’ll discover that looking at other houses no longer holds the same allure.
When you make God your home, the other houses won’t matter.
“Unless the LORD builds the house, its builders labor in vain” (Psalm 127:1).
As we settle into home with God and allow God to linger in more moments and spaces of our days, we begin to give Him greater access into the junky places we usually keep hidden. You know, the back of the closet. The basement storage area. You realize that He already knows what waits there and that we don’t have to pretend we’re perfect. When God is our home, we’ll begin to see the extra things we’ve collected over the years – closets of overcompensating and boxes of people-pleasing, and we’ll ask Him why we’ve gathered them. We’ll want to hear the truth about who we are and where we’ve come from. We’ll want to clear it all out because we know we’ll find more peace. What joy that we don’t have to hide a single thing.
When you make God your home, you can stop putting on a show.
“The eternal God is your dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms” (Dt 33:27).
Sometimes renovating is needed because we want prettier spaces and something is giving us a twitch. But sometimes renovations occur because of structural concerns — like a little boy’s bathroom where tub-splashing and inaccurate toilet aim led to a curled-back, peeling floor and exposed plywood subfloor…
When we let God be our home, He invites us into renovations that are about far more than peeling floors and dated cabinetry. These renovations are about the unseen places where we live. Only God knows that the plumbing of our hearts is cracked or the ductwork to our souls is caked with dirt. When He reveals the cracks and the dirt, we have a choice. If we remember that He is our home – that He is where we belong – then we’ll be increasingly open to the renovations He invites us into. Don’t worry – He is gentle. When we abide with Him and dwell in His presence, we won’t want to stay the same. We’ll want His renovations that offer us heart change and wholeness. And we’ll be amazed by His grand “before” and “after” plans.
When you make God your home, He transforms you.
“But from there you will seek the Lord your God, and you will find him, if you search after him with all your heart and with all your soul” (Dt 4:29).
David wrote in Psalm 27 that He only desires one single thing from the Lord: “…that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life…” (Psalm 27:4).
What if we, too, answered that the one single thing we seek is to make Him our home? Friend, He is where we belong. With Him, we are always home.
(1) From the hymn “Softly and Tenderly Jesus is Calling”