Thoughts of Home

A few weekends ago, I was in my old neighborhood.

As I drove through it, I noticed thick black clouds of smoke billowing into the sky.

Authorities redirected traffic so I was not able to get too near the source, but it was obvious that either a house or a business was going up in flames.

The winds were high that day, so I knew that there was not much hope in saving the structure.

As traffic was being diverted from the scene, I offered up a prayer for both the safety of the occupants and the firefighters.

About a week later, I found myself in the area again, and decided to drive past the site where the inferno took place.

A very strange feeling overtook me when I saw the remains of that house.

It was not just any house.

That house was my boyhood home.

I spent my first and most formative years in that house.

Although that was several decades ago, a flood of very vivid memories returned to me.

I remembered the floral wallpaper in the living room.

I remembered how the floor in that room leaned just enough so I could stack all but one of my wooden blocks.

Try as I might, I could never get that final block in its place on top of the stack.

Time and again the tower I created would tip over with that final block and come crashing to the floor (I was a rather persistent child).

I remembered the old black and white television in the corner that picked up the only three channels that were available.

I remembered the huge sink in which Mother or sometimes my grandmother would bathe me when I was very, very small.

I remembered the sandbox Father built for me on the back porch.

I remembered the large dining room table where my parents and I would share a meal and play games.

I remembered my bedroom where my parents taught me how to pray at the close of my day.

Then there was my favorite memory of all.

On one of those very rare occasions that it snowed, I remember Mother opening all of the curtains in the dining room for me.

As this was my first snowfall, she did this just for me so that I could watch the snow as it gently fell blanketing everything in white.

I remembered staring out of each one of those windows in turn completely mesmerized by that sight.

These were but some of my memories from that home all those decades ago.

All that physically remains now is the badly charred frame of what was a very old house.

But, there still remains something of a wonderful home forever preserved in some very old and very precious memories.

Memories that I will carry with me always.

There is indeed a difference between a house and a home.

A house is a but structure designed to provide shelter.

A home is where you live... really live.

As I considered that, scripture came to mind.

A house, like any other possession is temporary.

Matthew 6:19-20 (NET) - "Do not accumulate for yourselves treasure on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal. But accumulate for yourselves treasures in heaven , where moth and rust do not destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal."

A house, even that which we consider home, is a necessity while we are here, but our real home awaits us in heaven.

Philippians 3:20 (NET) - But our citizenship is in heaven - and we also await a savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ,...

Unlike the houses we live in here, our home in heaven will be permanent.

It will be moth proof, rust proof and yes, even fire proof.

I guess some old sayings have at least some truth in them.

Home is where the heart is.

We just need to make certain that our hearts are in the right place.

Jesus can help us with that if we will but let him.



Blessings,
Jim Pokorny
The Other Brother Jim
Look for me at http://faithfulfeetteam.blogspot.com/ on Friday, February 15, 2013.
Please enjoy the contributions of my fellow Christian bloggers while you are there!
I’ll be back here on Friday, February 22, 2013.
Schedule subject to change.