Outside my home right now is a painter, scraping old paint from around the windows and the fascia of our house. It is time for a fresh coat of paint.
We purchased this home about a year after Doc and I married. I had sold my house and moved my daughter, sixteen and feisty and with great protest, into Doc’s house while we searched for a new house for all of us to call home.
We moved to a new house, knowing it did not meet all of our needs; but, the location and the acreage seemed to be what a stepfamily of six would need…space.
Immediately, we began construction to add on to the house. I had survived a difficult divorce and the financial stress of being a single mom. Then, I was remarried to a man with two small children. I had two teenagers who were opinionated and headstrong; and, knowing that his two were just as opinionated and soon to be teens was stressful enough. Then, we decided to add on to the house! I went on anti-anxiety medication for about three months – concerned that I would loose what was left of my ever-lovin-mind!
Moving into our new home was difficult on our children. We tried to comfort them, allowing them to decorate their rooms any way they wanted. One room was blue, one room was purple; and, the youngest child didn’t care what color was in his room, as long as his teddy bear was with him, and the oldest was “ready to move out anyway.” The move was difficult on all of us.
For months after the move, we were comforting children of all ages, explaining that their friends would still come over; and, if necessary we would travel back to the old neighborhoods to pick them up. We were looking at dorms and apartments for the oldest who was heading to college. Everyone needs a place to call home.
“Jesus replied, ‘Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.’” (Luke 9:58 NIV)
I have taken children in all of the time; and, I have to wonder, why didn’t anyone speak up and tell Jesus, “come to my home, you always have a bed here.”
Why didn’t they offer a bed, or a pillow, or just something that he could call his own? I know he owns it all, but could someone not just offered?
Why did the Census of Caesar Augustus come to the City of David right when Jesus’ birth was due? Why couldn’t it have waited just a little while, so Mary could lay her first born on lamb’s wool near a hearth warm and bright, instead of a stable cold, dark and smelly?
Why couldn’t Jesus at least in his death, have his own cave – just his own little hole in the rock?
Maybe it is because he never really needed a room to call home, or a place to lay his head, but it is in our hearts that He looks for a place to call home.
Home, with steps or birth or both, home is where your family is. Home is where your heart resides; and, your heart is where home begins.
Doc comes into the room as I am typing this blog, to kiss me and tell me he is out the door for work. He wraps his arms around me tightly and my arms are around him as we kiss. I hold him a moment longer, gazing into those blue eyes and tell him, “This is home, right here in your arms; and, it doesn’t matter where our feet touch the ground. When my heart is right up next to yours, then we are home.”
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