Where is home? That’s not an easy question for me. I grew up in Southern California, and in many ways, it is still home for me. My mother lives there. So do my brothers. However, the last time I had a California address was 1979.
I own a home in Oklahoma. This is not a place where I ever thought I’d be living, but we were swept up by a strange phenomenon. My son landed here for a job and built many friendships. Now, the parents of all those friends have been moving to the state as if pulled by some invisible force. Maybe it’s the work of those Oklahoma tornadoes, picking people up from overpopulated states and dropping them where they are needed. We have a group here that we call the Mamas and the Papas.
If home is where the mortgage is, then Florida is my home. Mostly, I live here. I chose this place for the activities and the weather. After we moved here, my daughter’s family joined us. So, where is home? I don’t know. I don’t think I have found it yet.
In his letter to the Philippians, Paul tells me it’s a good thing I can’t identify my home. In verse 19, he warns me not to set my mind on earthly things. Why? Because “our citizenship is in heaven.” (verse 20) So until I reach that home, I will be content to wander.