“The Christian is the most contented man in the world, but he is the least contented with the world. He is like a traveler in an inn, perfectly satisfied with the inn and its accommodation, considering it as an inn, but putting quite out of all consideration the idea of making it his home.” —C.H. Spurgeon
They are home. And I don’t know why, but I woke this morning, with my husband at last beside me, and I thought of the above quote. I thought of my joy at having them back under the roof with us, at the sadness, once again, of knowing that Babita remained behind…
And I remembered that this is not my home. It was not meant to be. So while I walk into the beauty and the solemnity of this Holy Week, I give thanks for many things. Christopher and Jack are back stateside. They shared the Gospel, and brought the Good News. Babita is safe and well.
And this? This is fleeting, and will give way to a place whose name I know, but whose threshold we have yet to cross. But we will. Christ has assured us that though we are travelers in this world, He has prepared for us a mansion in His Father’s house that will someday welcome us with a homecoming the likes of which we have never seen.
And then— then!— we will truly be home.
