I am a big believer in the power of home. The presence of the people that you love can make any place home. I’m not arguing that. But home as a space is a valuable thing, a precious, deep in your soul thing that, once you’ve known it, you want to feel always.
The concept of home is why, even though I was born just outside of Detroit, Michigan, I identify as a Southerner. The house I was raised in was rarely much more than a place to hold my physical self and my collection of hockey posters, my hundreds of paper dolls, and my Trixie Belden books. My home, the space where I fit, where I felt loved and wanted and safe, was hundreds of miles away, down a long stretch of I-75 and almost to the Tennessee border, in a tiny town in Kentucky. Michigan was never home. But Kentucky? I can feel it in my bones even now.
I think about home a lot these days. Part of it has to do with having children who are grown and moving beyond the confines of the places I have made for them in the world. Babita’s baby, Mary Hannah’s wedding, Mathaus graduating, Jack stepping into a full-time career… all of it hits me in waves as I wrestle with the details. Another name will be written in my Bible in January. My wall will see a second stocking moved on with a grown child next Christmas. Things are different, and they just keep changing. Soon, less people will look to my front door as the entrance to their daily respite from the world. It stings even as it feels so very right.
The other thoughts of home, though, the bigger ones? They all revolve around what a place ought to feel like, and how high the walls to the world should be. Jonathan Edwards said every home ought to be a little church, and I believe this is true. I’m not the only one pulling my head in right now, wanting to create a fortress of good, of comfort, of safety. The media tells us that this all started in 2019, and maybe that’s true. But right now I look at the world and what I want more than anything is to carve out a little hollow in the desert where my family and friends know that there is peace. I want them to spot this big metal roof and not see that it’s prone to leaks, but to know that under it, there is rest. I want them to see the rocking chairs out front and remember afternoons where we gathered to listen to the cicadas hum or watch the leaves fall. I want them to sit at the table and forget that there are water rings and star shaped scars from especially zealous cookie makers, but instead feel the happy memories of a full belly and the laughter of folks who don’t care about your political affiliation or your denomination or your vaccine status or whether or not you celebrate a particular holiday.
I’m not a perfect homemaker. Far from it. I’m an even less perfect Christian, prone to try to boss God into blessing what I want to see happen or avert the things I decide shouldn’t come to pass. But I know my place. I know my role. And what I’m supposed to be doing right now is making sure this place He has given me has its doors wide open to people and slammed shut to the things of the world that will detract from the peace and joy His people need to rest their spirits before heading back out into battle.
The battle is real. It’s physical and oh, yes, it is spiritual. There’s so much to be done right now to point people firmly to Christ. It’s wearying. And so— home.The place where you are loved. The place where you fit. The place where you can cry or laugh or fall asleep on the couch and know that someone will toss a blanket on you if you look cold.
Fight for it, friends. Fight for your home, for. your childrens’ memory of the walls that mean love and truth and faith in something so much bigger than man. Keep it free of the anger and the harsh words and the fear. Write the definition of it on their hearts in quiet evenings where thoughts are shared and in meals that fill stomachs with food and spirits with encouragement.
Home is powerful. It’s the foundational space from which we are sent out to do the work for which we were created. It matters, because we carry it with us wherever we go. The world wants to press into our homes and steal away that essential taste of peace. Don’t default to giving in. Don’t hand over your home in exchange for more fiery talk of the state of the nation or another meaningless film. Stand. Fight. Make your house a home.