When I left home the first time, I was 17 years old, fresh out of high school and on my way to Texas where I was planning to attend International Bible College in San Antonio. Through all the years since then (and there have been many!), I have always known that anytime I needed to go back home, I could do so. My mom and dad always had an open door for any of us who needed a place or refuge during our adult years. After Bible School I went back home for my wedding to Jerry Witt, I. Then, I went back home when my third baby, Phillip, was born. When Jerry was killed in a plane crash in Mexico, I went back home and stayed a while. During the three and one-half years I was a widow, my little boys and I could always go back home—and often did so—for any of the holidays or events happening in the family. When Frank Warren came into my life, I went home to tell my family about him. Although Frank and I were married in Durango, Mexico, all through the years or our marriage we would make trips to Georgia with all our children for the missions conferences, as well as for Thanksgiving or Christmas celebrations. We always knew we could go back home, not because the house was special but because my mom and dad always had an open door for us and welcomed us with open arms. This was true for all nine of their children, as well as several other children they helped during their years as pastors at Open Bible Tabernacle.
The house was big and had plenty of room for everyone. On Thanksgiving and Christmas there would be a gathering of different children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren throughout the years. I remember one Christmas when it seemed that everybody went home for Christmas and there was “standing room only”. Literally! There were people standing in the living room, dining room and daddy’s office, eating off the plate they were holding in their hands because there was no room for everyone to sit down. They were great times, full of laughter, lots of talk and really great fellowship. I think I can speak for all my siblings when I say they were tremendous times of love and great food. We made incredible memories.
My mom and dad and different members of the family lived in that house for more than sixty years. Daddy built the house when I was in high school and all of us grew up there. But, this past week our 94 year old mother and her executors signed the papers and sold the house that had been “our home” for all those years. It was a time of sadness for all of us as we recalled all the things that happened in that house, andit was especially sad for our mother. But, it had to be done. Mama could no longer live alone and it was dangerous for her to be in that house alone. So, we all agreed, it had to be done.
This has caused me to reflect on several things. One of the most obvious things is that for the first time in my long life I no longer had a “home” or a place of “refuge” where I could go any day, any hour of the day for any length of time for any purpose and be welcomed with open arms. Another thing I reflected on is what does the word “home” mean? We all know it means a place of safety, a place of refuge, a place where we are accepted “just as we are”, as well as a place of rest, nourishment and happiness. There is a saying “home is where the heart is”, and that is true also. Still, I felt there was more to it than that.
Several years ago I entered into a time in my life when I no longer felt like I belonged to this world. There were things that were happening that I could not understand, systems that I had believed in and depended on all my life, had failed and I felt I no longer belonged to this world. ( I would imagine that the Christians in the middle east right now feel like that.) Then I remembered the Scripture in Hebrews 11:13 that says “ . . .they were strangers and pilgrims on this earth.” It is talking about all the heroes of the faith who had been persecuted for their faith, but howthey didn’t despair with this persecution because “they were pilgrims on this earth.” Their goal was not this world, they were just passing through. They were headed for another place!
We are not suffering persecution like many in this world today are suffering, but we do need to remember that this is a temporary “home”. No “home” on this earth, as much as we love it and appreciate it, is permanent. Our true “home” is in eternity with the Lord Jesus Christ. There is an old song we used to sing “This World Is Not My Home—I am just passing through.” In Spanish it not only says that this world is not my home but that “this world is not capable of being my home.” In other words this world cannot measure up to what my true home is. Our “real home” is on the other side.
To all the members of my family who are sad about losing our “home place”, just remember that those people who once gathered at Nanny and Papa’s house, will also be with us in our “true home” at the great reunion in eternity.
I am super thankful for the home we had here on earth for so many years but I am even more thankful that those who made that home for us here on this earth, have also prepared us for our real home over there!
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