One of the things I missed most about being in Liberia was my porch time with God. There’s a porch right outside one of the bedrooms here in the team house, and my morning routine usually involved that porch, some coffee, my journal, Bible, iPod, and a pen. It’s where I prayed, worshiped, cried, listened, wrote, questioned, learned, grew.

So, needless to say, since arriving in Liberia late Friday night, I’ve been pretty anxious to get back to “my” porch. I got my chance on Sunday morning. I got my favorite chair, poured some coffee into my favorite mug, and started reading this amazing devotional that my sweet Aunt Kitty gave to me when I saw her this summer.
First page, top line: “Learning to Live ‘At Home’”

Pretty timely, I thought, as I had only recently arrived at what would again be my home for the next whoknowshowmany months.
But wait, God. Liberia? Home? No, I don’t think so. This is where I’ll be for a season, sure, but it’s not home. I left home behind to come here. How can I leave home to come home? That just doesn’t make sense.

But the more I thought about it, the more I saw truth in what seemed to be a total contradiction. He really did call me here so that He could call me home. See, I realized that home is not a place, not a building, not any particular location on a map. It’s communion with Him.

I think Brennan Manning might say it best in The Ragamuffin Gospel:
Jesus says simply, “Make your home in me, as I make mine in you.” (John 15:4) Home is…a safe place right in the midst of our anxious world.

Actually, on second thought, Acts 17:28 sums it up even better that Manning did:
In him we live and move and have our being

So. There you have it. I’m home.


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