I’ve lived at my present location for over 40 years; but in my mind, “home” is the house where I grew up. If you click the link to the original post, you can see a picture of it.
The old neighborhood, of course, has been changed beyond recognition and all the neighbors from my childhood are long gone. Most of my family has died out.
But God has wired into our minds and hearts the hunger and thirst for something better; and He wouldn’t have done that if He hadn’t had something better waiting for us.
I remember fondly the years of living in my parents home. Indeed, little, if anything, remains the same in that neighborhood. It’s not immune from change, any more than any other place on earth. If I’m honest with myself, my nostalgia is for more than a place, but also for the time. Virtually all of my family was alive and healthy back then. Many of life’s harsh lessons had yet to be learned and really, there was little not to like. Flash forward to now and the burdens of people lost really change matters.
I wouldn’t care to give up the lessons life has taught me, but I would certainly like to fill the gaps left by various losses, and the biblical promise of restitution is the only way that will ever happen. That is truly good news.
Now that I’m old enough to appreciate it, it’d be so great to have my grandparents around, and Aunt Betty the nun, and all the others. But I’ll just have to miss them all, until God brings us back together.
That’s all we can do about the matter; place it in God’s hands.
I was blessed to have a really neat childhood with plenty of really nice relatives visiting often.
It was amazing, how many family members could fit into one of those houses.
Growing up, I had at least 17 first cousins. It was great. Many have passed away and I’m only in contact with a few of the surviving ones, at this point. That’s really sad.
Home is where the food is! 🙂
No, seriously, I know what you mean. But once I joined the Air Force and started moving around so much, “home” really did become a relative term. In fact, when I was in the Air Force, “home” seemed to mean anywhere I wasn’t — it meant the States when I was overseas, my BOQ or apartment when I was on duty, my home base when I was on temporary duty at another base, and so on. And my mother was living in an apartment where I’d never lived, so even when I went there on leave, it wasn’t “home.” At that point, “home” was whatever base I was on leave from. So where was “home”? Anywhere I wasn’t.
But even now, as I look back on the various places where I’ve lived — even the condo where I recently lived for 32 years until I moved to my current apartment four years ago — for me, home is here. Where I live now. Where my cat and my books are. Where the food is. Where God is. And thanks be to God that I have such a wonderful home.
Very nicely put.
I like that – home is where the books are!!
I have fond memories of the house I grew up in as well. Since my parents passed away I still go by and see the house whenever I am in California (last time was 2016). The street and houses were the same but the hills above the house are now side by side mansions (mostly owned by foreigners). I too look forward to that heavenly city whose Maker is God.
I suppose you were taxed out of the house you would still be living in if the democrats weren’t stealing everyone’s prosperity.
My parents moved. I had no vote.