Saying Good-bye to "Home"

"I'm going home!" I answered to a friend as I was packing a bag for my short trip home to Tennessee. My flight was scheduled to leave in a few hours and I was eager to see my widowed father-in-law again. He had made the decision to put his home on the market following major heart surgery in December. The home he and my mother-in-law had shared for over 45 years. My family grieved his decision but we knew it was a wise and intelligent choice to make while he was capable of determining where he wanted to spend the remainder of his life rather than having someone make the decision for him.

It was determined by my husband and his brother that I was the best family member to help sort through and pack the house so I boarded my flight home. This dear man met me at the airport, hauled my bag and drove me to the house where I became his daughter 32 years ago. The child of alcoholic parents, one who died of cirrhosis of the liver and the other who shot herself, I would hardly have been considered an ideal candidate as a future daughter-in-law. Yet this dear couple saw a broken girl and reached out loving hands of acceptance. Over the years, their love chipped away at my hard exterior which assured me of God's great love and my place in their family. Their Tennessee home gave me a wealth of memories, and security, and over time I came to believe my adopted position as their daughter.

So many years later, there I stood with boxes packed looking at the emptied space that once held life. Each room I walked through held a memory and all of them included my mother-in-law. In the four years since her death, I attempted to touch her by running my fingertips across her quilt, or by sitting in her chair or numbly walking through the yard. I wanted to touch her again. I wanted to hear her voice but all I heard was an echo. She had gone home.

So this was it. I was saying good-bye to this old house. Yes, I'd be back to the town but never into this dwelling again. With emotion choking out any words, my father-in-law drove me to the airport. The silence was deafening. I wanted to scream, but I knew this dear man's pain was raw, too. I clung to him a few seconds longer, gathered my things and watched this 80 year old swagger back to his car.

I sigh as I see one more area of the "world" I am called to let go of. This home was not a bad thing, but I had to evaluate how much that house took of my thoughts and emotions. Even good things can slip in and steal our focus from the Lord of our hearts. This home was a gift and James one tells us "every good and perfect gift comes down from the Father of lights..." Yes, this was a good gift from God, yet for a season. That season has now passed, but the love remains.

"And the world is passing away, and also its lusts; but the one who does the will of God abides forever." I John 2:17

As we remain in the world, there will be parts we want to hold on to. We are called to no longer walk in the futility of our minds, but press on toward the goal toward our true home. As I say good-bye to an earthly home, I long for the eternal home Jesus has promised. One that will welcome me to forever. No more good-byes, I'm going home.