Confessions of a home-aholic.

Confession: I love home. I love everything about my home. My food. My room. My candles. My bed. My pictures. My books. Even the neglected pile of random papers that has accumulated on my desk. I. Love. Home. It is comfort, peace.

This past weekend I was invited to go on an overnight event in another city. It didn't know many people going. I didn't know the city. I didn't know the exact schedule. All things that add up to uncertainty.

Well, I went. It was a blast. There was endless laughter, frequent frolicking with new friends, and many hilarious attempts made by me and my date to creep in the back of as many random posed pictures as possible (we did marvelously at this, by the way).

Yet, in random quiet moments, I would sometimes find myself longing for the comfort of my home. To be away from the frothy fun social activity, the crisp clean hotel room, the irregular delicious food, and dropped safely back into the comfort zone of my room. Don't get me wrong, I had beyond a delightful time at this event. There were just random pangs of nostalgia for the niche of my normal environment.

When I finally did return from the sweet frivolity that can only be found in a large group of extremely endearing college students, I got to let down. I got to relish in the happiness that accompanies an anticipated reunion with familiarity.

Then I got to thinking. It is only flimsy happiness upon which I float right now, cheerfully reunited with my cozy home on 10th street. But oh, the joy that must await me at my true home. My real, eternal home. To be with my best friend, my comforter, my guide, my Father.

Though this world is full of beautiful things and people, it is our temporary home. A simple pit stop on the way to everlasting joy and comfort. Jesus is my home, and in him I find all comfort, purpose, peace, and meaning. Praise God that the joys to be found in his presence bear no flame to my room, my candles, my food, my house, and even that darn stack of papers that will never find a proper place.

Oh, home sweet home. 


Your river carries me home.

There are few places I visit that never fail to bring me to the feet of God. But here is one of them:

A constant. Blessed Lake Austin.

There are things here that always profess to me the creativity and joyfulness of our sweet God: the sun, breeze, green water, leaves, the smells, the sounds. 

How can such cheerful peace be present in one place each time I'm there? Well, maybe because its not the place, but the Spirit that meets me there.

 All I know is that I cannot wait to go back. To sit by this river, to soak in the sweet sunshine, and to bask in the One who fills all my fountains.