Home

I have been doing a lot of thinking about home this week.

See, 2 weeks ago this was my home.

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and now this is my home

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literally this.

one bedroom

4 people.

And yet neither place is really mine.

The house is for sale, and in a town 3 and a half hours away, and I will never reside there again.

The room is in the basement of someone else's house, and therefore not really mine.

Which leaves me with one conclusion.

I'm homeless.

Now don't miss understand me here...I am not homeless in the definition we've created for the word, because I do have 4 walls around me and a roof over my head. I have food to eat and plenty of cloths to wear, but really, do all those things equal a home?

I have decided that they don't.

I have lived for 2 weeks surrounded by stuff,

and yet

I am home-less

Less a home. Less means without.

But Melissa, you say, Home is where the Heart is.

Is it? Really? If so, then where is my heart?

Where?

I've thought about that a lot today, and have come to the conclusion that

it is not here.

It is not at my old home.

It is not anywhere on this planet Earth.

For my heart is in another world, and its owner is Jesus.

So this homelessness that I feel, this longing for a place of my own....

What is it?

Am I longing for a place to call my own?

In part, yes.

But I wonder, could it be that the longing for "home" has always been there, but now, stripped bare and standing with nothing, I now notice it?

Just something to think about.

linking with Imperfect Prose

"Birds have nests, foxes have dens
But the hope of the whole world rests
On the shoulders of a homeless man
You had the shoulders of a homeless man
And the world can't stand what it can't own
And it can't own You
'Cause You did not have a home"

-Rich Mullins

my week...

Oh Lord, I have come to you for protection;

don't let me be put to shame.

Rescue me, for you always do what is right.

Bend down and listen to me; rescue me quickly.

Be for me a great rock of safety,

a fortress where my enemies cannot reach me.

You are my rock and my fortress.

For the honour of your name, lead me out of this peril.

Pull me from the trap my enemies set for me,

for I find protection in you alone.

I entrust my spirit into your hand.

Rescue me, Lord, for you are a faithful God.

I hate those who worship worthless idols.

I trust in the Lord.

I am overcome with joy because of your unfailing love,

for you have seen my troubles,

and you care about the anguish of my soul.

You have not handed me over to my enemy

but have set me in a safe place.

Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am in distress.

My sight is blurred because of my tears.

My body and soul are withering away.

I am dying of grief;

my years are shortened by sadness.

Misery has drained my strength

I am waisting away from within.

I am scorned by all my enemies and

despised by my neighbors- even my friends are afraid to come near me.

When they see me on the street,

they turn the other way.

I have been ignored as if i were dead,

as if I were a broken pot.

I have heard the many rumors about me,

and I am surrounded by terror.

My envies conspire against me, plotting to take my life.

But I am trusting you, O Lord, saying,

"you are my God!"

My future is in your hands.

Rescue me from those who hunt me down relentlessly.

Let your favor shone on your servant.

In your unfailing love, save me.

Don't let me be disgraced, O Lord, for I call out to you for help.

Let the wicked be disgraced;

let them lie silent on the grave.

May their lying lips be silenced

those proud and arrogant lips that accuse the godly.

Your goodness is so great!

You have stored up great blessing for those who honor you.

You have done so much for those who come to you for protection,

blessing them before the watching world.

You hide them in the shelter of your presence,

safe from those who conspire against them.

You shelter them in your presence, far from accusing tongues.

Praise the Lord, for he has shown me his unfailing love.

He kept me safe when my city was under attack.

In sudden fear I had cried out,

"I have been cut off from the Lord!"

But you heard my cry for mercy and answered my call for help.

Love the Lord, all you faithful ones!

For the Lord protects those who are loyal to him,

but he harshly punishes all who are arrogant.

So be strong and take courage,

all you who put your hope in the Lord.

Psalm 31

Luke 8

And there was a woman....

Who touched me?

Denial

Master everyone is pressing up against you

No, someone deliberately touched me...I felt healing power go out from me.

The truth comes out.

The story of illness told.

Daughter, your faith has made you well, go in peace.

-taken from Luke 8

He knew. This Jesus, both God and man, knew who touched him.

So why the question? Who touched me...

She knew. Her unclean, out cast, living with no family, she knew that being in that crowd, touching that many people, touching the Master would make everyone else unclean too.

But desperate people do desperate things.

Because she had tried everything, spent everything, and still had nothing. At her end, there was space for God to begin.

So she wades through crowd, disobeying law by not announcing herself unclean, and she reaches out, and she touches the fringe, because when someone touches fringe on a robe, the wearer

can't

feel

it.

Who touched me...

I wonder if panic coursed through her body. Panic mixed with pure joy, because she knew she had been healed. But this Jesus, this man who shouldn't have known she touched him, knows the truth and calls out for an answer.

And there lies the reason to why Jesus asked the question.

See, this woman had internal bleeding. She knew what had happened, but do you think anyone else in her community would believe the bleeding had stopped? I doubt it.

Jesus set the stage with the question, providing opportunity for the woman to share the miraculous, so that God could be glorified, and the truth could be told.

This woman was a woman of faith, yes.

BUT

she was also a woman of intention, and she was a woman who was done with earthly solutions,

I don't think her goal was healing, I think her goal was HIM.

Daughter

One word, and they are connected, united in family ties. This man Jesus reaches in and heals in a way that is much deeper then physical, offering something that was stripped away like health, but cut deeper then pain. One word spoken in front of a crowd of witnesses, giving identity. And she knows it's the truth.

Go in peace

So I ask myself, when I come and touch Jesus' robe, what my goal? Am I coming to get something? Because I know I treat this relationship like that somedays, looking for the heavenly through my earthly solutions.

But when I come to him out of my nothingness, with no more of my own, is that when He can truly work the miraculous?

Touching Jesus' robe...

Only when I can't do anything, do I reach the point of submission to allow and trust Him to do something. And that something will be my everything, because I have nothing.

Linking today with Imperfect Prose

a faith trip

I life lesson in Faith and the start of a life long journey. I hope to share more of this story, and many other.

What was Scotland

I went to scotland when I was 18. It’s hard to believe that my parents actually let me go, now looking back and having children of my own. I was going to a strange country, with very few details in place. Things like who was going to pick me up at the airport, what was to be expected of me, who was I staying with, all those important things that reassure parents that their child will be safe.

But we knew I needed to go, so off I went, by myself, on a whirl wind adventure that would ultimately end up shaping my life.

The flight was an adventure. I sat down in my seat nervous as any first time flyer is, and let my head rest for a moment. I could sense my seat mate watching me, and as I sat there with my eyes closed, head back, he introduced himself. His name was Guy. He made small talk for a while, asking if it was my first time flying, explaining the sensation of take off. The soothing sound of his voice captured my mind until finally I could calm my nerves and open my eyes. He was a tall man, I could tell from his posture. Dark hair, and a wonderfully warm smile that instantly made me relax.

The flight was nothing eventful. Guy let me play with his Palm Pilot, and try his wine. Flying wasn’t so bad after all.

We arrived in London Heathrow airport an hour later then scheduled, and I said my fair wells to the team of Interns that were staying in London, as well as a quick farewell to Guy. As I looked at my ticket, I realized that instead of having an hour and a half to catch my connecting flight, I now only had a half hour. Guy had told me that the bus ride between terminals takes a half hour. I could feel the panic rising. I had no idea where to go, so I just stood still. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder! I turned to face Guy. He said that he had miss read his ticket and that he was headed to the same terminal as I was. I looked in his eyes, and he said “follow me”. Away we went, down stairs, through hall ways, me completely lost, Guy seemingly knowing where he was going. This stranger, I trusted.

The airport was busy, security having doubled since the terrorist attack on September 11, 2001. People were lined up 2 rows thick, and as we came out of the hall ways, and to the clearing above the stairs, the view below was the mass of people waiting to get onto the connecting bus, the one that would get me to where I needed to go. My heart sank. How was I going to get on that bus?

Suddenly I was moving again. The journey down those stairs is a blur, but somehow Guy lead me down, through the mess of people, and before I knew it I was being pushed onto that bus, with standing room only, with enough time to turn and watch the doors close, and see Guy waving on the platform as the bus was put into gear. That half hour ride seemed like an eternity, leaving time and space for my mind to wander. How did I get on that bus? A question that still boggles my mind to this day.

We arrived at the terminal and I exited with a new sense of panic. There was so many line ups, and so many people. Where was I suppose to go? I was already very late for my connecting flight, and I had this dreaded feeling that I was going to miss it if I didn’t hurry. But where do I go?

And again, there was the hand on my shoulder, and as I turned, I looked up into the face of Guy. I was stunned. “How do you get here” I asked him. He explained that he had managed to get on the bus through the other door. I didn’t know what to say, for I had seen him waving goodbye, and there was no more room on that bus.

No time to think about that know tho, for we were off again, racing through hall ways, getting through impossible lines, being cleared for customs, and finally, reaching the gates. I turned to say thank you, but I could only catch a glimpse of Guy’s hand waving above the crowd. I knew I would never see him again.

I ran as fast as I could towards my gate, worried, excited, full of wonder at what had happened. I was met with excited greeting for the air stewards, as they exclaimed that they were just about to close the gate, and I had made it just in time! I made my way to my seat, flopped myself down, and wept.

I opened up my bible, to no where in particular, and started reading.

“Answer me when I call, O God who declares me innocent. Take away my distress. Have mercy on me, and hear my prayers.........I will lie down in peace and sleep, for you alone, O Lord, will keep me safe.”

-Psalm 6:1, 8

Indescribable peace flooded my body, taking over muscles, drying tears.

I was safe, for God had been walking with me. It was God who got me on that bus, it was him who rushed me to my gate. I will never know who this man name Guy was, or if he even existed in the first place. But regardless, human or saint, he was my angel that day.

sharing with Imperfect Prose