What defines a home

Before we arrived home for our first furlough earlier this year, I knew the Achilles' heel I would face in the US. I started praying about it well before landing in San Francisco, but it's hard. I'm a nester and I strongly desire a house in which I can nest. The arrival of our bundle of bouncing happiness has only strengthened my nesting urges and I've had no way of fulfilling that urge. It's natural and not in itself wrong, but that one desire sometimes overwhelms me with a mixture of sadness and frustration at the life I'm leading; the one with the home ownership box not checked. 

We lived in six different places the two years that we spent in PNG and each place was, in a sense, full of other people. Bits of their lives and memories were lingering through all the household items left behind. Before we left the States I knew this would be a struggle for me, but God was faithful even in this little thing. He allowed us to create homes in each place that we stayed, even in the transient flats we were assigned to. In fact, I turned nesting into a true art in PNG and Brian certainly helped with several intelligent suggestions about decor (I've intentionally barraged him with episodes of Love It or List It while we've been around television to give him an even sharper eye).

One of our six PNG "homes"

But here in the States... it's rough. All the beautiful homes friends have established for their families play into my insecurities at not moving down that path. Shouldn't we own a home by now and what's wrong with us that we haven't? Aren't we hindering Ray somehow by not putting a roof over her head that we own? 

Then, in moments of lucidity, I remember that this tension is exactly what I should be feeling. I'm discontent here in the States because we don't have a set home and I'm discontent in PNG because we don't have a set home. We live in whatever flat is available in PNG and here we've lived (or stayed for a short time) in a dozen homes. I'm not supposed to feel content here on this earth and at this point in time I know that if I owned a home I would be much too content. I would find security in a structure rather than God. I would focus on my life here rather than life eternal. 

It's still my Achilles' heel, but I'm happy to have it. Each time I feel the tug in my gut when I see a beautiful home I remember the home that matters.