I went “home” this
past weekend for our Community Days celebrations. I grew up in a
small community, at the centre of which is my parents' property.
Their house sits on one side of a large lot and most of the
festivities were held under a tent on the far side. My husband and I
pulled into my parents driveway at a little after 2pm. As I walked
across the lawn to find my mum, I was spotted by a
slightly-beyond-middle-aged (like, 80 maybe?) woman from the
community. I have known her all my life. She loves me, dearly. She
got up quickly and almost ran to hug me. I love her, too. She has
loved me and prayed for me, hugged me and comforted me when my heart
was broken, and encouraged me in all of my endeavours. She is one
among many who have been a part of my “village” since birth.
I love my home community
and I have missed living there since we moved to Saint John 8 years
ago. I used to go home to visit and would shed quiet tears the whole
way back to our house. It took some time, but I have come to love
Saint John, too, and while a part of me hates to leave Springfield,
another part looks forward to getting back to the port city. I love
the friendliness of the citizens; I love the old parts and the new
parts; I love the sea breeze and Mispec Beach; I love my friends and
the new “village” my family has begun to build; I love my job and
the brothers and sisters I work with and those we serve. BUT. It's
not the same. It isn't “home.” My heart belongs in Springfield.
Not the close to here Springfield, the other, farther one. The one
it takes an hour and forty minutes to get to.
On my way back to Saint
John last weekend, I was reflecting on how I have changed and how
I've stayed the same. As I drive away from Springfield, it still
feels as though a piece of me, that place above my stomach and below
my ribs, my centre, my core, is pinned there. It stretches from
“home” to home where I live, but doesn't break. I still belong
there. I am known and loved there. I am safe there.
I often feel the same
piece of me tacked and stretched when I consider our ultimate Home,
our home with Jesus. I am nostalgic for what is to come. I am not
the first to feel this loneliness for Home. Squire Parsons once
penned, “I'm kind of homesick for a country to which I've never
been before.” (Sweet Beulah Land, 1973) I imagine he felt the
longing in exactly the same visceral way that I do.
There is a lesson in all
of this for me. I think that the way I felt when I drove back this
past Saturday (pinned to home but coming back to Saint John with
gladness) is the way we are meant to live all the time: pinned to
HOME, living here on earth with joy for the time being; longing for
Beulah Land, but appreciating creation (even broken) and taking joy
in it because it “proclaims the glory of God”, loving our
neighbours who are made in God's image.
We have a permanent home.
One where we belong, where we are known, loved, safe and with Jesus:
John 14:1-3 “Don't let
your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me. There
is more than enough room in my Father's home. If this were not so,
would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you?
When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will
always be with me.”
The Lord is joyful about
his creation. Shouldn't we be too?
Psalm 104:31 “May the
glory of the LORD continue forever! The LORD takes pleasure in all
he has made!”
And how can Psalm 19 not
spark joy in our hearts when we think about this beautiful temporary
home?
“The heavens proclaim
the glory of God. The skies display his craftsmanship. Day after
day they continue to speak; night after night they make him known.
They speak without a sound or word; their voice is never heard. Yet
their message has gone throughout the earth, and their words to all
the world. God has made a home in the heavens for the sun. It
bursts forth like a radiant bridegroom after his wedding. It
rejoices like a great athlete eager to run the race. The sun rises
at one end of the heavens and follows its course to the other end.
Nothing can hide from its heat.”
It all comes down to
this: We are made for more than this broken, sin-filled world. We
have a home that is greater than all of this. But we have been given
a job. We are to love our neighbours and show them Jesus. If we are
living without joy, without hope, in mourning, then we are not living
here properly. People need to see joy, they need to see love, they
need to see hope. Because of Jesus, we have all of that, and we can
point to all of the things around us and show them the glory of the
LORD. We can point to ourselves and say, “Look what the Lord has
done for me.” Like David, we can say, “For you, O LORD, have
made me glad by your work; at the works of your hands I sing for
joy.” Psalm 92:4
--Chanelle
