I was looking at my "I'm an Alien!" bookmark and couldn't help thinking how little trouble I have with the concept that this world is not my home. Maybe it's all the moving that I've done over the years, but I tend to think of home as more of "where the people I love are" or "where I feel safe" rather than a specific address. Sure, I can quote you some addresses if you want-- 1803 Van Camp Avenue, 5800 Royal Palm Court, 3552 400th St, 4314 Jay Avenue, Rural Route #1 Box 71C, PSC 42 APO AE 09465... but the places those are attached to aren't home, even though they were special. And there's no where safer than with my Abba; no one I love more and no one whose presence would be harder to forgo. So it's easy for me to know this world is not my home. My home is the place that is being prepared for me (1 Peter 2:11 & John 14:2-3).
In all the years that
I’ve been here,
I’ve traveled, lived
both far and near,
And yet I know,
wherever I roam,
No place in this
world is truly my HOME.
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