|(Photo by Tara Gourley, edited by moi)|
So. I should return to my original point. Home. This is what it is to me, currently:
A place where I can be without makeup and still feel like I have value. A place where I can sleep soundly (sadly, this is nowhere at present). Somewhere that I can be as loud or as quiet as I like, and not be embarrassed of either. Where I can do something of value, and lazing around on my bum is not condoned. Where there is wifi, please and thank you. Where I feel like my needs are not a hassle or a waste of time. Where I can sing. Where there are at least pictures of the faces I love most. Where there are journals, and time to fill them.
It's a lot to ask for, and an incomplete list. I'm sentimental and selfish, and there are certain things that I cling to. I don't think anything on that list is a bad thing, but I think my priorities are askew.
Did anyone else notice that nothing on that list directly involved God? Have I become so messed up that a house without the Lord as the focus could ever feel like a home to me; like safe place? That's the scariest thing imaginable. Separated from God, and not even caring; barely even noticing. Get me out of this place.
If I am in a dirty shack in Uganda, but I'm praising the Lord, I am home. If I am a millionaire in a mansion, striving to serve God daily, I am home. If I am crammed in a small house with seven other girls, tired, worn out, and sickly, but God is my focus, then I am home. Our home shouldn't change when our address does. It shouldn't make a difference in our hearts whether we have all our furniture with us or not. We should still be at peace, even when far away from our husbands, wives, children, and loved ones. If all we have is Him, we have all we need.