Home away from home...

Jesus said, “If someone loves me and keeps my word, my Father will love them, my Father and I will come to them and make our home with them.” John14:23
So we are always of good courage; we know that while we are at home in the body, we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith not by sight. 2 Corinthians 5:6
During the week in the wintertime, I feed our cows twice a day. When it is cold, eating and digesting the hay keeps them warm even in snowstorms. Without a generous supply of hay, they lose weight and can get sick from exposure. We have two kinds of hay in our barn now. One set of hay is from our fields. With the drought for the past two years, we have not been able to grow enough hay to last through the winter so we buy hay from someone else. It never fails. When offered the choice between hay from somewhere else and hay from home, they will eat the hay from home fields first. The taste of home...
When the donkeys and horses see the kitchen light come on, they nicker and bray knowing that I can hear their requests for breakfast. I see them standing at the far end of the stable sheltered from the winter wind. They stand nose to tail, snuggled in close, sharing body warmth. Little donkeys and big horses are all tucked in together standing in the first sunshine of the morning. When I bring them home after they have spent a day grazing on the Sound of Music Hill, Dixie will reach out and touch Junie B as they amble down the drive to the stable. The touch of home...
In my heart’s eye, I can see Cloverly standing in the midst of the grove of trees at the end of a long straight lane bordered by fields of green soybeans. When we go to Georgia, I can see the little brick house at the bottom of the hill on the left hand side of the road sheltered by tall pines. As I turn up Edna Roberts Road late on Thursday night, I can see the lights of home shining from the top of the hill calling me to warmth and welcome. The sight of home...
When I stand in the middle of the Cat Square Superette Parlor Dancing and Bridge Club Society Church, I listen to the laughter and gripes, feel the hugs and taste the tears, sing while Courtney drums, pass the Peace of God, share communion and feel at home with myself and with God. When I sit in All Souls Cathedral, I let the quiet holy of that place wash over my soul rinsing out the leftovers of the day and I am at home. Riding Junie B on the farm, leaning into the hills we climb, feeling the connection between our bodies, I sing out in pure joy and I am at home. The feel of home...
In the early morning hours, mama and I stood by my daddy’s deathbed at their home for over forty years. As I watched, the blood began to settle in the soles of his feet. I told mama, “It will not be long now.” We held his hands and talked. I told him mama and I would be fine. We would take care of each other. He could leave now and go on home. Gayle was waiting for him. And after a little while, he let go and slipped over home to God, out of his body but home with the Lord and my sister. Our final home...
Lent, as a liturgical season, will lead us home to ourselves and to God. It is a tradition that is both the same and brand new every year. The rituals remain the same but what we bring to Lent changes as we change. So every year I seek to enter in to my dark places, the places hidden from the Light, the errors of my ways. And in the journey through the dark valleys, I can see the lights of home waiting to welcome me with the touch of healing forgiveness. The way through darkness does not last forever, only for a season. After Lenten darkness, comes Easter light... death and resurrection help us grow towards God. I know by faith there are hugs and laughter and love waiting for me in the Arms of God when I walk through the doors of my final home. Home at last...