Aching Towards Home
A reflection on longing for peace.
“The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” – Maya Angelou
Last week I received a series of emails about home. Feeling at home in nature, in the body, in art, in community. It was a strange feeling to click on these emails, to read them with a critical eye, because I was the author—the guest contributor for Daily Nourishment, a newsletter from Spiritual Direction for Writers. (You can find a sample below, in my roundup of good things.) I first drafted these emails early in the year, and when I was contemplating what to focus on, I was drawn to the idea of writing about home. It’s a topic I keep circling back to: what home is, how it has shaped and formed me, how it continues to evolve as I grow, how each rendition of home sticks with me like the clay that stains a potter’s hands. I think we are all longing for home—the physical space of it, the spiritual rest of it, the embodiment of home lived out in community. We ache for home, as Maya Angelou says. And I think it is fitting, some maybe even say Spirit-led, that this series came out in the midst of spiraling violence in the Middle East, in a season of unrest and uncertainty, when millions of people are being displaced from their homes, when thousands of bodies—mothers and fathers and children and grandparents, aunts and uncles and neighbors and friends—are literally being crushed under the rubble of what was once home.
When I think about home, I see a white house with a wraparound porch in perpetual summer. I see Bradford pear trees and blooming crepe myrtles, a magnolia lush with fragrant flowers, and a mimosa tree with low branches, perfect for climbing. A handful of horses nibble in the pasture, keeping the weeds at bay, and past their weathered stable, which my dad built with his own two hands, I see green fields edged with trees where tractors rest. The sky is a blue ocean that bleeds orange and pink—a watercolor sunset that blossoms briefly as the day exhales into night. Crickets sing, and swallows swoop through the cooling air—catching the last mosquitoes before nestling into their mud huts.
At one point her memoir, The Ungrateful Refugee, Dina Nayeri laments the loss of a tree that grew in the center of her family home, while the friend I wrote about last week often shows me photographs of her homeland—of the open air markets in Afghanistan, of the parks filled with swings and slides and Ferris wheels. I am astonished by the beauty of places that I have only known in terms of war.
My social media feeds are currently awash with footage and opinions of the war between Israel and Palestine, and honestly, I have little to add to the conversation. I just don’t know enough to feel confident sharing another opinion. But the older I get (and I completed yet another spin around the sun this week), the more convinced I am that issues are very rarely black and white, cut and dry. Our world is a complicated, messy entanglement. Pull one string and another gets stuck. That said, I do know that we all ache for that ideal and seemingly unattainable home, that place of authentic community, where we are known and understood and still loved. Where all our needs are met. Where forgiveness reigns. Where there is no scarcity. Where suffering has no foothold. Many wars have been fought over this very issue—the good desire for a home, for a homeland. Our world desperately needs the liberating love of Jesus: the coming of an upside-down kingdom which proclaims peace over war, love over hate, forgiveness over vengeance, generosity over selfishness. (And let’s be clear—the Church does not live this love perfectly. Not by a long shot. We have often chosen to build our own kingdom instead of following the way of our King.)
As I read and watch the news in snippets after the boys are asleep, all I can do is hold space for the hearts and homes that have been lost, for the people continuing to suffer, for the humanity whose light has been dimmed. I hold out hope for a greater home—that garden city to come, in the center of which will be walls built by divine love with gates that stand open as a place of refuge and welcome. I hope for it to be restored and revealed and received by all who need its rest.
For those of us who follow the way of Jesus, may we make choices today that reflect our King, choices that bring about His Kingdom come and not our own. May we all open our hands and our hearts and our pockets to make a way for every person to find a home that truly satisfies and nourishes their soul.
Jenica
Everyday Joy
Words of Jubilee
Many thanks to Holly Porter Phillips for sharing this version of Psalm 23 with me.
Psalm 23 - Psalms Redux
This I know:
My life is in Your hands.
I have nothing to fear.
I stop,
breathe,
listen.
Beneath the whirl of what is
is a deep down quiet place.
You beckon me to tarry there.
This is the place
Where unnamed hungers
are fed, the place
of clean water,
refreshment.
My senses stilled,
I drink deeply,
at home
in timeless territory.
In peril, I remember:
Death’s dark vale holds no menace.
I lean into You;
Your eternal presence comforts me.
I am held tenderly.
In the midst of all that troubles,
that threatens and diminishes,
You set abundance before me.
You lift my head; my vision clears.
The blessing cup overflows.
This I know:
You are my home and my hope,
my strength and my solace,
and so shall You ever be.Carla Grosch-Miller, Psalms Redux, published by Canterbury Press, Norwich 2014
A Few Good Things
You can read a sample of my Daily Nourishment here, and you can sign up for the email series here.
My husband and I recently finished The Chosen. (Have I already mentioned this?) I held off on watching it for a long time, because let’s face it—a lot of Christian TV is pretty hokey. But I loved the series and found it really well done. It’s given me new ways of reading the Gospels, and I am so glad I finally watched.
I also recently finished a short, little book by Ronald Rolheiser called Domestic Monastery. It’s a quick and lovely read. Check out a sample here. I highly recommend it, especially for the mothers.
Many thanks to Jackie for supporting my work this week! If you would like to contribute to this project, you can click the “Buy Me a Coffee” button below to add to my writing fund. You can also simply share this publication with others. It is free to subscribe and share! (Of course, you can always become a paid subscriber as well, if you choose. I would certainly be grateful!)
A copy of Domestic Monastery is in one of my boxes of books waiting to be unpacked. I bought it at some point this year, I think. I look forward to reading it soon! Thanks again for contributing to Daily Nourishment. I enjoyed your posts. Hope you have a nice week.