I love going home. I was born and raised in Ohio, and never had any real reason to leave it. Always loved it, despite my wanderlust!
You see, I love new adventures. Not jumping out of perfectly good airplanes, and not riding upside down on a speeding roller coaster. No, more in the nature of travel and sightseeing kind of adventure is what I seek. New experiences and new people are my cup of tea.
But going home, while somewhat adventureful in and of itself, is a sweet thing, a thing of familiar faces and places, a mixture of the old and the new. It is satisfying to my soul to reintroduce myself to my roots.
My town has changed much since I moved away from it 18 years ago. Many parts of town look nothing like I remember. Landmark buildings are gone, or have had their historical charm remodeled out of them. But then I can drive down a street in my old neighborhood and see the same houses I knew, even trees I have climbed, and that is when I know I am home. The familiar feelings of safety and peace return.
Our walk with God is much like that. We struggle through hard times, where we feel like we are in a strange and barren land. We are anxious and can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. We have the sense that God has forgotten us in the midst of our trials, and nothing about that place is familiar.
But then something happens, and we turn a corner. There it is, that light we were looking for. And when we see the landmarks, the stones, that is when we recall the things God has done, how He has never left us alone, or lost, in the wilderness. The places, and the faces, are friendly and familiar, and that sense of safety and peace returns once more.
Who said ‘You can’t go home again? ‘ I beg to differ, because I know from experience, there is nothing like going home.