August 12, 2015

It only took once.  While traveling, a very kind lady asked one of our kids, "Where is home?"  "We are homeless."  Was the reply.  Then, a rushed, "We live in a tent."  Finally, "It's complicated."


It is.




We sold the only home our kids remember; the only home some of them have ever known.  We left the life we wanted.  The life we had worked to have.


We are wandering.  We have officially entered the world of the "Third-culture Kid" and the "Ex-pat".


I think there is something inside every person that longs for home.  We like to know where we came from and where we are going.  Familiarity of where we lay our head at night is comfortable.


I could whine about it.  (I might sometimes.)  But then I read a passage familiar to me, but I read it in a different translation:


"Lord, through all the generations, you have been our home!"  (Psalm 90:1)


I can't promise my children a stable home or a place they can bring their kids to in the years to come.  I can't even tell them where we will be in a month!


But I can tell them that we have a HOME.  A sure home.  An everlasting home.  A better home than we can ever imagine. 


We are never homeless.  Even if we sleep in a tent.


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