I’m writing this as I sit in our beautiful new house. Designed and built by incredibly skilled and goodhearted professionals (not to mention the many selfless and hardworking volunteers), it was completely paid for by hundreds of donors. What was left of our house payment that wasn’t covered by the fundraiser was paid for by anonymous donors. We moved into our debt free home this past Saturday with the help of many dear friends and family. Time and writing space would fail me to attempt to acknowledge all who made this house a possibility, but suffice it to say that God has worked in the hearts of many people to supply our every need, as He promised in His Word.

July 22, 2013 – the summer after our accident – found us rolling back and forth between my rehab hospital room and the emergency room next door for various and sundry reasons. July 22, 2017 found us rolling back and forth between our little old apartment of three years and our new house of however many years the Lord allows, moving everything we own (I had no idea we had so much stuff) into our new home.

Nyra is having the time of her life running around and exploring our new abode. I think she especially likes the extra running room (our house has a lot of wide open space to make it wheelchair accessible) and the elevator I use to get to and from the basement (Nyra calls it the alligator, so we do, too). I’m looking forward to watching Nyra grow up in a little country town, where the smell of cow farms blows through the corn fields as you wave to your neighbors on the way to church.  

There’s something about Saint Johns, something about this house, that gently whispers “home.” We are immensely grateful for his place, and so relieved to finally have a place to call our own, but ultimately this is not our home.

So where is home? Some would say home is wherever you lay your head at night, while others hold to that old saying “home is where the heart is.” When Emily and I were living in hospitals together that first year after our accident, we were fond of saying that home was wherever we could be together. Still others, perhaps those more established in a certain house or neighborhood, have a specific, tangible place to point to and say “this is my home.” While there is some element of truth in all these thoughts, the ultimate truth is found in the Bible, God’s letter to us. It’s there that God tells us where home truly is.

If you are a believer in Jesus Christ as the one and only way to eternal life in paradise, your true home is in heaven. This is true both now as you walk this earth, and that glorious day when you leave this world and dance into the one God made for you. If Jesus is anything less to you than God’s Son, the Savior of the world, then what you see around you right now is the closest to home you will ever be. Whether you find the message of the cross liberating, offensive or irrelevant, Jesus is who He is, and He is the only way to the home we were all created for.

Where is your true home? Your reception or rejection of Jesus as your Savior will determine that. He waits for you with open arms and an open, albeit narrow, door.