Finding A Home
It’s been six months since we’ve had a home. We’ve had places to live—a guest house, with family, hotels, an Airbnb—but we haven’t had a home. A place in which we can fully unpack, decorate with our decor, and grow into.
We have been very fortunate to have so many opportunities for shelter during this long transition period (from March to the present). We have not had to go to any desperate lengths. We have not had to experience homelessness.
And yet, we feel an ache for a sense of settledness that only a home can provide.
It’s not a need for belonging or community, though our hearts yearn for that too.
It’s a homesickness of the heart. For a building and its rooms that we can make our own and stay in for the foreseeable future. A roof to gather under that won't change in a few months. A breath we can finally release, so we can just be.
We feel this, and our kids are feeling it too. These are not their beds. Half of their belongings are still in boxes in a friend’s garage in another town.
It’s not just materialism and a need for things (though yes, they can spark joy). A home represents safety—physically, emotionally, psychologically.
A home is a gathering place for our family, a space where we imprint our personalities and nurture our relationships. It’s a reflection of our identity, a refuge, a centering.
In a sense, wherever we live in this life is just temporary. We are merely passing through the window we’re given between birth and death. As Christians, we have a deeply felt belief that our true home is on the other side. Even the homes we have on earth can be taken away in an instant of natural disaster or devastating financial loss.
And yet.
While we’re here (on earth, in Germany), we need a home. It feels like a missing piece to the puzzle of what we’ve stepped into. We need somewhere to put down roots to mitigate the sense of unrootedness.
That impermanence is exactly what the people we serve live inside of, every day, without choosing it. Our hearts break for the displaced because they too are experiencing a lack of home, some in similar ways, others in ways we could never imagine. We joined Refugee Oasis because we wanted to find a way to help those cast out of their countries and those who left voluntarily for a better life.
We can’t give them a home, but Lord willing, we can provide them with language and relationship; a friendly smile, a value of name and identity, a conversation over a cup of tea.
As internally challenging as this season is for us, it doesn't compare to what those forcibly displaced experience. We haven't had to go without shelter or wonder where our next warm bed will be. But we now carry an even greater appreciation for what others face—and an even greater reliance on the Lord's provision.
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