We want to do “Home” here.
On the bad days, on the days you messed up or didn’t win, on the days the minivan breaks down and we all cram into the little car to shuttle around town….
On the days when we say the foolish thing and our tempers get the better of us…
On the day when we’re just crazy forgetful or running late and the ballet studio is calling me (again) because my daughter is waiting for me and I’m still two minutes away on Main Street….
On the nights when mom didn’t sleep because she was up all night stressing about a problem and then remembering to pray over it…
When we get bad news, when our feelings are hurt, when our friendships are tricky, when two girls keep fighting on the playground and that ruins our favorite recess game….
We want to come home.
I want my husband and my kids and surely myself to have this place of space and grace.
This is the place we celebrate with milkshakes and we commiserate with movie nights and freshly popped popcorn.
Life can sure be disappointing sometimes. People can be cruel, trodding all over you when you’re already down in the dust.
But home is where the people are who genuinely celebrate your victories and accomplishments.
Home is also where you drag your disappointed heart with its hurt and sadness because it’s safe here. You are hugged. You are loved without conditions and expectations. These are your people, the ones who are for you. The ones who won’t mock your tears or tell you to ‘buck up and just get over it.’
Home should be the safe place. The united place. The place where being you is being enough.
Of course, Home isn’t that way for everyone. And that’s the great tragedy. It must break God’s heart to see how Home sometimes hurt instead of heals.
But at least here in my space, in my life, for my family, I want Home to be the refuge God meant it to be.
I read in Psalm 90:1, how Moses prayed to God. He said:
“Lord, through all the generations you have been our home” (NLT).
I’ve read this in other translations before. The ESV says the Lord has been our “dwelling place” and the HCSB says the Lord has been our “refuge.”
But I let that word “home” echo a bit and think about what it means for God to be Home for me.
My safe place.
The place where I abide, live, dwell…where I relax and be myself, where I kick off my shoes and plod around in my cozy white socks, where the masks are off and people see the real me, where I wash off my makeup, where I mess up sometimes and ask for forgiveness from those who love me still.
God is my Home.
He’s celebrating our victories.
And He’s wrapping us up in arms so big when we unload the disappointment, hurt and sadness we’ve been carrying on our shoulders.
In a world where we can feel judged and criticized, like people are always jumping in with suggestions of how we should be, where bullies and mean girls set themselves against us, God is our Home.
He loves you as you are. He says you’re beautiful. He says you have value and worth and He’s proud of you and He’s seen it. All of it! All your hard work and effort–and He says it’s good.
I wonder what it was like for Moses to write that God was his home?
Moses–the slave baby sent into the river on a basket, raised by an Egyptian princess in a palace where he didn’t quite fit in.
Moses–the murderer turned fugitive, who spent 40 years out in the wilderness tending sheep and living outside his community.
Moses–the leader of a nation that spent another 40 years wandering around the desert, pitching tents, moving on and never lingering in one place for long.