Give me your hand, it’s time
It’s time to show new eyes their home.
When fences divide our land,
I would catch bullets with my bare hands.
– “Umbrellas,” Sleeping At Last
It’s probably a sentiment common to man, but perhaps it’s something we feel more acutely at certain times: the longing for home. Our home.
As children of parents, we have a childhood home, and as children of God, we have an eternal home. But there’s a seemingly vast expanse of time between childhood and eternity. As you begin to fringe away from literal childhood, home begins to seem less like something you’re leaving and more like something you’re searching for. Less like a place and more like a life.
I know the temporal world is not our home. I know we were made for eternity. I know we are not to love this world so dearly that we forget the hope of heaven. I am confident in the glorious truth of someday being home in the presence of God.
But at the same time, we were not made to drift aimlessly and alone.
How do I put it into words?
Maybe if you’re young, like me, you walk out the door of your house one day and realize it’s not going to be your house forever. You’re suddenly struck that for most of your life, your home is going to be the one you build. And then it hits you with staggering force that for most of your life, your family — the people you live and die for — is going to be yours: the one you start.
Maybe for the first time, you feel the unfamiliar ache of a void you didn’t know was there. You fight back tears because all of a sudden, you know you were created for something that has yet to become a reality. You find yourself wondering more than ever who is going to be your home, and when. You wonder how you’re going to find them, or how they’re going to find you. You realize how much you already love and long for a family of your own, for a son or a daughter.
Maybe the longing isn’t just a desire for satisfaction, but a desire to plant, to give. To build something, but not alone. To protect and be protected. To know the security of being where love leads you. To take a road you’ve never traveled to somewhere you’ve never been and stay there because love keeps you, like a pioneer wrangling mountains and valleys for the promise of settling in a land ripe with vision.
Because home isn’t simply the land you live on. In a sense it’s intangible, but it isn’t transient. A place worth waiting for, but when found, worth defending with every fiber of your being.
I trust I’m not the only one who wants to go west.