“When will we be home?”
Lately Jacob has been asking me this question. Frequently. Like, several times a day. It’s a simple enough question, given the right context. Say you’re out running errands or visiting a neighbor. Or maybe you’re away from home for an extended time, on vacation or traveling somewhere. There are plenty of scenarios where the question “When will we be home?” makes sense. What makes Jacob’s query unusual, however, is the fact that he almost always asks me, “When will we be home?” when we are, in fact, at home.
I can’t blame the kid for his confusion. In his 41 months of life he has already moved “home” 3 times, and over 9,000 miles at that. In fact, this August will be the first August in his entire life that we will NOT be moving to a new home (and only the 4th August in over a decade that our family will stay put. I’m actually in the process of petitioning the government to change the name of August to Moving Month.). For Jacob, home is an impermanent idea more than it is a place.
His question simultaneously amuses me and breaks my heart. After all, one of my jobs as a parent is to provide stability in my childrens’ life…and how can I do that if they change homes as often as they change their underwear (c’mon, folks, we all know how little boys roll). As much as I want my children to be able to set down roots and call a place their own, however, the question of “When will we be home?” has gotten me thinking.
Maybe there’s something to be said for the realization that we are not home. Something to be said for living life a bit differently, a bit unsettled, on purpose. Something to be said for adjusting to a place while trying also to avoid fully adjusting. Something to be said for the fact that all of us are outsiders, in a way, and that we will never truly be home until we are with Jesus. The Bible tells us that we are strangers, pilgrims, aliens and sojourners on earth (Hebrews 11:13-16, 1 Peter 1:1, 2:11-12) and that our citizenship is in Heaven (Phil. 3:20). This place, this entire planet, is not home. It is a place of work, a battlefield, and a proving ground, but it is not home.
If I truly believe this–that my entire life is just a stopping off point on my journey–then it changes things. Radically. It changes the way I teach my children about home and, in fact, changes the very definition of home. In wanting to provide those stable roots for my children, then, maybe I don’t need to have a single place that we call home. Maybe instead of cement, our foundation will be The Word. Maybe instead of doors, we will open our hearts to God and to others. Maybe instead of windows, we will reflect the love of Jesus to the world. And in doing so, maybe we will help bring others home.
I don’t know when or where or if we will ever settle in a home, but I do know one thing with certainty. With hope there is home, and I have enough hope to carry me through infinity Augusts.
And in the end, I will truly and forever be home.