Homecoming

No, not the football game.

So there's this really awesome thing I know of, that has been brewing in the back of my mind for a very, very long time. I'm not sure when it started, but a long time ago, I watched a cheesy tear-jerker video on YouTube, a compilation of videos of American soldiers returning home to their families after serving who-knows-how-long overseas.  Predictably, I bawled while watching.  And then I found another one, watched it, and cried again.  And then I found another one.  I don’t know how many I watched, but I know I cried quite a lot that day.  And then, several years later, a similar video was shown at a retreat I went on with my youth group.  And I remembered the day that I watched those videos, over and over again, and I cried again.  And I started thinking about why.  It helped that the speaker used it as an illustration in his talk, so I started to understand the meaning behind it.

But I didn’t keep thinking about it.  I buried the thoughts and the tears and forgot again.

And then a few months ago I got thinking about something else.

"I just finished reading one of the most amazing books I have ever read.  And you can bet that that means I cried while reading it at least twice.  But the second time - the last page - was much more intense than the first time.  Because a boy who had almost never been shown true love and recognition for his extraordinary talents, a boy who had never felt the care of a parent or mentor who loved him unconditionally, was finally brought home.  To his real parents.  And they loved him.  I wept."

The day I wrote that was the day I finally got it.

Because there’s something inherently beautiful about “coming home.”  And not only beautiful, but longed for.  In all of us.  Who doesn’t want, at some point in their life, to enter into a place where they are welcomed with open arms, unconditional love, and genuine appreciation?  Because what is “home” after all?  “Where the heart is”?  Maybe so, but it’s deeper than that.  “Home,” to me, is where I am safe.  Where I am loved.  Where I can go and know that no one else will attack me, no one will cause me to doubt my own value.  Home is where I feel that I belong.  And maybe that's what "where the heart is" is really supposed to mean.

But, you see, as beautiful as it is to watch those soldiers receive their tearful flying-hugs, as amazing as it is to read about the boy who found his parents, that isn’t really home either.

Because those homes, they are broken.  Not they “can be” broken.  But they are broken.  Inherently.  Because of sin.  No “home” on this earth can or will ever be perfect.  As safe, as loved, as valuable as I feel in my home, something or someone can always enter in and break that image.  My “home” is imperfect.  So is yours.

Sad, isn’t it?

But there is one home that is perfect.  It’s called Heaven (or New Heaven New Earth, but that's another topic.  For this post I'm just going to refer to the "good afterlife" of sorts as Heaven).  And that’s relieving.  That’s exciting.  That’s beautiful.

This inherent desire in me, to be safe, to be loved, to be valued and cared for and every other longing that I place under the title of “feeling at home” - it can all be found there.  And so much more (i.e. "Adventure").

Because of God.  Because it is His perfect and wonderful creation, existing untouched by sin, unaltered by brokenness.  This is where I may one day stand - or kneel or lie with my face to the ground - in front of God to hear Him welcome me into His presence by name.  Because He loves me.  And His love is greater than any I will ever feel.  Than any I could ever know aside from Him.

That is beautiful.

That is what I want.

I want to come home.  Home to God's presence, where life is real and perfect.  Where sin is nonexistent, where I know I belong, with the One I belong to.

My Father's house is the only homecoming I need.  It is the ultimate homecoming.

And while I am committed to living my life out on earth for as long as God wants me here doing His work, I’m so excited to go to Heaven.  I don’t know anything about it, but I know it will be amazing.  And that's All I Need To Know.