My Mother's Home

After many years of living and traveling in a motor home, my parents have moved into a home made for solid ground. It's easier for them while my father is traveling through a battle with cancer. 

"Your mom must be so glad to finally have a home," a friend shared. I laughed.

This friend does not know my parents. My mother's home is wherever my father is. Being together is home. Camping out, staying in a motel, visiting children or grandchildren, or in the snowbird park where they winter, they always feel right at home.

Together my parents built a home out on the farm and changed their world one person at a time, one day at a time, for over fifty years. Long after the house and land were sold, their life of adventure, serving God's purposes, has continued.

A bag of grapes and some homemade cookies in the cooler, shared memories, old family sayings and routines combine to set up a temporary home wherever they have traveled. The familiar keeps them comfortable, peaceful, ready for different circumstances and enjoying people. They like to be together on a new adventure.

A homeless man in our city frequents a corner on the route to my house.  If no cars are behind me, I usually talk to him for a few minutes. He always grins and waves at me. He plans to be traveling on soon, but for a little while, this is his home. He makes a fairly good living here, but he hopes to go where it's warmer.

I know a lady who never slept in a bed until in her thirties when she went to prison. She travels in and out of the prison system and I'm always glad to see her. I welcome the opportunity to remind her she is loved, to caution her about taking her medicines, to guide her feet back to solid ground. "I'm home," she will say as she walks into the prison chapel. She likes to be where it's safe, where she's loved.

"This world is not my home. I'm just a passin' through." My family used to sing the old gospel song on stage after stage as we traveled around during my childhood. The song is engraved on my heart and when life gets troublesome, the words are a reminder that wherever my heavenly Father is, that is home. He is my strong tower, my refuge, my solid ground.

"Softly and tenderly, Jesus is calling, calling for you and for me. See on the portals, He's waiting and watching, watching for you and for me. Come home. Come home. Ye who are weary, come home."