Home at last

It's neither the drive-to, the walk-in, nor the sit-down that makes it familiar. It isn't the artwork on the wall, the colour of the carpet, or the smell of coffee that reminds me. It's the man up front; and he doesn't have to speak long before I know I'm home again.  It's with these words: "Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ" (Philippians 1:2) that I can breathe easier and silently acknowledge ... ah .... 'Home Sweet Home.' It's awesome! Every Sunday, I have the privilege of  hearing God's greeting! The words are always the same (well mostly), but it's my queue to bow my head in humility - just like I observed my own Dad bowing his head to receive the greeting. To me, bowing my head allows me to silently pray, "God, my father, thank you for your invitation. I'm not worthy to be here...I've sinned against you...but you love me...and have invited me in." It's a "Welcome home. I'm happy you're here" hug ... every week!

There's something very welcoming about coming home. Familiar sights, sounds, and smells gently remind us of the place where we belong. (You can almost hear John Denver's 'Country Roads!') Think about how many songs in all music genres refer to going home as a highlight of Christmas and Thanksgiving celebrations. The mental picture of a home where music softly plays, a fire crackling in the wood stove, the smell of home-made apple pie filling the air, and children running freely throughout the house is very familiar...and comforting. These images create a certain homesickness that most can identify with. And we crave for that void to be filled.

I think that God has placed something else in each of us - something that only he can fill. Some people try to satisfy their itch with 'stuff'; thinking that toys will bring contentment. Others, will try to find satisfaction in 'snuff' i.e. drugs and booze to fill the void. Yet, a third group will try 'smut' - consume pornography - to escape reality. Still, others will overeat, shop, or exercise to excess. I've thought about this often in my own context as I've struggled to find lasting contentment. And, sometimes, I wonder if this constant drive within me is an ache that can only be filled by Jesus. Because, there's a place when that itch vanishes... and it seems to vanish every Sunday morning when I hear God's greeting at 'home'.

Returning home from FLA!

You know what's better than God's greeting? Nothing, actually. But, there's something special about God's blessing that is spoken over us at the end of each service. As the minister speaks, I'll close my eyes, extend my open hands, and symbolically receive God's blessing. And, here's the best part - when the words: "The Lord bless you and keep you; The Lord make His face shine upon you, And be gracious to you; The Lord lift up His countenance upon you, And give you peace" (Numbers 6:24-26) are spoken, I've occasionally caught a glimpse of one of my kids extending their hands, too. And, I know they've come home. Home at last. Thank God, they're home at last.

Faithfulness looks a lot like this...

"MOM! Can you help me?"

"MOM! I need you."

"MOM!"

Racing up 13 stairs.
Turning left towards her bedroom.
There she is. On her knees. Praying.

"Just give me a few minutes. I'll be there."

That's all she needed to say and I knew things were going to be alright.

It didn't happen often - a handful of times, maybe - but often enough to forge a memory of my Mom that will stay with me forever. The several times I found my Mom kneeling beside her bed praying to her God was a moment of indescribable comfort. Words fail me. I'm glad my memory hasn't. Yet.

Thinking back to moments of my childhood when I saw the evidence of faith in my parents brings a certain joy and peace that seems reserved for only such memories. As I watch our children become teenagers and get closer to adult life these memories scratch the surface more frequently and they seem to be taking on greater meaning. My parents owned a faithfulness that was tangible. Their faithfulness was demonstrated in part by having daily devotions and praying before and after meals, to church attendance (as a teenager - regretfully, I'd argue it was akin to forcing a horse to drink), to tithing even when money was scarce, and to Christian day schools. I still hear my Mom asking one of us to get the 'black envelope from the hall closet' where she kept the money that was set aside for the weekly church offering.

Which brings me to this thought: faithfulness seems to fall off the radar when talking about the nine fruit of the Holy Spirit. I wonder if it's because faithfulness is an act that exhibits its fruitfulness most often within oneself. With the exception of 'joy', the other seven fruit - love, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control - can be displayed in our actions demonstrated toward others. Faithfulness manifests itself in daily, personal prayer; in weekly worship with God's family; in sacrificial giving; and in teaching our children "when (we) sit at home and when (we) walk along the road, when (we) lie down and when (we) get up". Deuteronomy 11:19.

It's this persistent and gentle faithfulness that glows in Mom's face. For whenever I visit her, she seems to have just laid down her Bible and (or) it appears she had been spending time in prayer in the presence of her Saviour, Jesus.

Mom's speech has been impaired greatly since suffering a stroke in 1996. And, for a reason I don't fully understand, when she sings her speech is clear. It's as if God said, "My child, because of a lifetime of faithfulness you always be able to sing praises to me. I won't take that joy away."

And, if you listen very carefully, somewhere in the distance, you can hear Mom sing a song she often sang when I was growing up - I Love to Tell the Story (Listen to Alan Jackson's version.).

I love to tell the story of unseen things above,
of Jesus and his glory,  of Jesus and his love. 
I love to tell the story,  because I know 'tis true;
it satisfies my longings  as nothing else can do.

Refrain:
I love to tell the story, 'twill be my theme in glory,
to tell the old, old story of Jesus and his love.
(Author: A. Catherine Hankey)

Sing it again, Mom. I want to hear it again.
 

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