My home soon won’t be my home anymore. My parents’ place, the place that I lived in as a teenager, is due to go on the market this week. It’s a good time for house-sellers. My home will be somebody else’s home.
Of course, it isn’t really home anymore. Home is my flat. But my parents’ was the steadfast home, the one, that even if disaster struck, would be there to catch me as I fell. The safety net is being pulled away from under me.
That means I must trust in True Refuge. As a friend has it, I must trust in God as Home. She says that wherever we are, we are Home, when we are trusting God.
I will say to the LORD, “My refuge and my fortress, My God, in whom I trust!” Psalm 91
I haven’t been back to my parents’ for nearly a year. Going to that home makes my parents’ separation too real. Selling the house makes everything that has happened real. I don’t want this to be real. I don’t want to face this.
Cocooned in my blanket, in prayer, trying to shut all of that out, I cry about the loss of that childhood home. I cry, and I cling to the knowledge that God’s love is always going to be my Safe Home.