Some of the greatest joys are also filled with sadness. Case in point is the extended family meals we share on Friday evenings. It is a custom that began over 20 years ago with my wife's grandparents. It was a standing invitation for their daughter, son-in-law, their children and their families to gather in love, laughter, encouragement and support of one another. To one who grew up in very a dysfunctional setting, those Friday night meals have been a great joy to me. Grandma and Grandpa have gone on to be with the Lord but the tradition continues with 10-12 of us gathering on an almost weekly basis.
While I can't think of a better way to culminate a week than sitting around a table filled with so much love and laughter, there are times (thankfully few) when it is a struggle for me. When the family begins to share -as they inevitably do - the memories that evoke uproarious laughter and adamant denials of deeds done, I often begin to feel a touch of loneliness. In listening to them re-tell stories that someone either denies ever happened or, with great laughter, blames on one of the others, it dawns on me that, even though I am counted as a full member of the family, I am still an outsider when it comes to these moments. I cannot share fully in the experience because I was not there when they occurred; the memories and everything associated with them are mine to share only abstractly - and that is a far cry from reliving them with the loved ones who were there when they happened.
It is true, because of these wonderful evenings together, that I periodically long to return to the town of my birth, to gather around those with whom I can share the experience of laughing at stories that begin with "and remember when.." Sometimes the longing to be with those who shared such experiences with me is almost overpowering. Be it with family or those from the neighborhood with whom I shared so much, sometimes I feel compelled to return to them, to look upon their faces and share laughter and remembrances. It is called missing home.
Yet, that is not the only time I miss home. Often, as I read the pages of Scripture, I find myself feeling incredibly homesick. As I read the wonderful descriptions of that place that awaits me when this world we now inhabit ceases to be and, though I have yet to spend any time there, I find myself longing with my entire being to be found there. I find myself homesick for that place where evil, pain, heartache and discouragement do not exist. A place where neither young nor old suffer from abuse, hunger, or debilitating disease and every individual is seen as prized and highly valued. I long to be in the presence of the One whose love is so unconditional and full that, though He knows me fully (warts and all, as the saying goes), He could love even me.
Yes, some days I miss home. Until my time here is finished, there is nothing I can do about missing my Heavenly home. I am, however, going to make a visit to my hometown soon!
Yet, that is not the only time I miss home. Often, as I read the pages of Scripture, I find myself feeling incredibly homesick. As I read the wonderful descriptions of that place that awaits me when this world we now inhabit ceases to be and, though I have yet to spend any time there, I find myself longing with my entire being to be found there. I find myself homesick for that place where evil, pain, heartache and discouragement do not exist. A place where neither young nor old suffer from abuse, hunger, or debilitating disease and every individual is seen as prized and highly valued. I long to be in the presence of the One whose love is so unconditional and full that, though He knows me fully (warts and all, as the saying goes), He could love even me.
Yes, some days I miss home. Until my time here is finished, there is nothing I can do about missing my Heavenly home. I am, however, going to make a visit to my hometown soon!
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