Tip of My Iceberg

After a couple of months of my personal Rocky Mountain high, we’re back in flat and humid Orlando.

Home.

For the past two months, I adapted to higher climes, drier weather and scenery you can’t see in our Sunshine State. Waking up to cooler temperatures, different flora and fauna and less space was wonderful.

It was home.

We had a ton of people in a small apartment, but we lived minimally and got along with less stuff than we’re used to. No one missed anything of significance.

Made me realize how I’ve filled my life with things that don’t really matter all that much.

Two totally different places. Both have enjoyable aspects that make them destinations for fun lovers and residences for others.

Mickey and mountains.

Although I do have preferences, home isn’t a structure, furnishings or even a full refrigerator. It’s not a climate, location or style.

It’s the space where family and friends feel loved and cared for. The place where open arms reflect open hearts with genuineness and grace. The one area where those deeply cared for can know for certain they’re safe, no matter what’s been said or done.

It’s about people.

Having a structure is handy. I’m incredibly grateful for air conditioning when the temperatures are hovering around a hundred as is the humidity. For a hot shower when I’m grubby and gross. A refrigerator to hold the food to feed the ones I love.

Let’s not underestimate the value of a bed.

Things are helpful to meet the needs of people. It’s encouraging to be able to offer the best of what I’ve got to share with others.

I value nice things as much as the next person.

But make no mistake, the value isn’t in the house or the furnishings, what’s put on the table or the linens on the beds.

A home is the people in it and how they respond to those who come in.

I could be equally at home in Colorado as I am in Florida, not because of where I live, but how I choose to live with others.

We kid around about having refrigerator friends. Folks who visit and are free to get what they want from the pantry or refrigerator without asking.

Like family.

Jesus never had a great home to live in–He moved around a lot. Wherever He went, He welcomed people into His presence. Sharing whatever He had. Giving kindness freely.

Home is more of who we are than where we are.

Which is why this world will never be our home. It’s a temporary layover before eternity. A place we learn and grow, where we discover what makes a real home and choose what home we’ll have forever.

If I spend too much time trying to make my house cozy and fret about the quality of towels my family uses, I’ll miss the chance to really see the people in my life.

Beautiful spaces are wonderful. But helping others discover their personal beauty and worth–no matter what they do, look like or where they live–is investing in eternal beauty.

That’s the kind of space I want to live in. For a long time.