I have this friend who has to sell her home. She doesn’t want to, but circumstances beyond her control have forced her hand, and she now has to give up her sanctuary. A few weeks ago, my family sold my grandparent’s house. Well, it was more than a house, it was home. It was a place lots of children were raised, lots of praying was done, and the place where my grandmother went to see Jesus.
It makes me sad to think of it, and shines light on my ridiculous jealousy when it comes to other people’s homes. I want a home of my own so badly, to build those memories, to give my kids a forever place where the grandkids can come for the summer and I can teach them things their parents will fail to.
But like my friend and like my family, as well as the devestation of all the Hurricane Sandy brought, when it comes down to it, a home is just a house. It’s a thing. We get so attached to things. Really, it’s quite ridiculous. We can’t take them with us. And no matter where my grandparents chose to buy a house, it would’ve been our home.
I wonder if this was a little something to do with Jesus being homeless. We all know his ministry was traveling and it didn’t make sense for him to have a home, but what if there was more to it? What if he knew that something as insignificant as a house could become a stronghold, an idol?
I wonder what other idols we have in our lives that control our thoughts and emotions?