Home, for Now

Where is home for you?
Is it a location?
A memory?
Or perhaps a feeling?

Home.

There is a saying: “Home is where your heart is.”
But if your heart isn’t in it, can it ever truly feel like home?

“Home sweet home,” they say.
But what if home wasn’t sweet at all?
What if the very word home stirs painful memories and experiences—things better left unsaid, yet impossible to forget?

My daughter once gave me a wooden keyring.
It reads, “Home is where my Mam is.”
I treasure it.

To her, home is not walls or rooms, but presence, love, and safety—and that means more to me than any house ever could.

And what of those with no fixed abode?
What does home mean to them, I wonder?
Is it a place they once had?
A place they hope for?
Or simply a moment of warmth, kindness, or rest in an uncertain world?

Dorothy, in The Wizard of Oz, repeats the words, “There’s no place like home.”
She says them over and over, hoping to wake up somewhere familiar—somewhere safe.
Perhaps that is what we all want:
not just a place, but a feeling of belonging.

Maybe home isn’t something permanent.
Maybe it shifts and changes, just as we do.
Maybe, for now, home is wherever we feel seen, loved, and at peace—even if only for a moment.

My heart breaks when I think of the homeless.
Of war-torn countries where so many have lost their homes entirely.
No place to rest.
No place to feel safe or warm.

How unbearably hard that must be.
No protection from the elements.
No hot meal or warm drink.
Barely surviving from one day to the next.
The desperation they must feel is difficult to imagine.

One New Year’s Eve, I walked past a homeless person huddled in a doorway in the town centre.
They were very young.
As I approached, I felt an overwhelming mix of sadness and helplessness.

What happened next surprised me.

They looked up and greeted me with a big smile.
“God bless,” they said, “and best wishes for the New Year. You take care.”

I stood there for a moment, taken aback.

There they were, with so little, yet offering kindness so freely.
There was a sense of contentment about them—an uncomplicated, almost peaceful outlook—that I must admit I envied as I received their blessing and continued on my way.

This person, who appeared to be bankrupt of anything worth offering, was able to give something incredibly valuable:
pure goodwill, warmth, and hope for the future.

It made me realise that home is not always what we have,
but sometimes who we are—
and what we choose to give, even when we have almost nothing left.

As a Christian, I believe that we are always heading home.
I believe this earth is not our true home, but a temporary dwelling, and that our eternal home is with our Father in heaven.

The journey toward that eternal home can be tumultuous—
for the needy, and for those who appear to have everything they need in this world.
Suffering, loss, uncertainty, and longing do not discriminate.

For me, home is found in connection with my Father God through faith in Jesus.
It is in that relationship that I find comfort, strength, and meaning.
That connection enriches the journey, even when the road is difficult, and reminds me that I am never truly lost.

The Bible speaks often of this hope of home.
Jesus reassures His followers that there is a place prepared for them in His Father’s house, and that they will one day be with Him there (John 14:2–3).
The Apostle Paul also reminds believers that even when our earthly lives are fragile and temporary, there is an eternal home prepared by God—one not made by human hands, but secure forever (2 Corinthians 5:1).

Home, then, is not only a destination,
but a presence that walks with us—
guiding us, sustaining us,
until the day we finally arrive.

Blessings

Lorraine