Emma, born in the Xingu Region of Brazil, introduced Matt to the places that shaped her childhood. Every earthly home points beyond itself.
<!–
–>
When I Forgot Where I Was
A few nights ago, I had a dream that has stayed with me.
I was walking through downtown Abbotsford with some friends, showing them the places where I grew up. We eventually came to an old department store where my family occasionally shopped when I was a boy. I remembered going there with my parents and siblings to look at washers, dryers, and furniture. They were ordinary outings, but they were wrapped in the quiet security of childhood. I never questioned whether I belonged there. My parents were with me. Home felt safe.
In my dream, sixty years had passed. The store had changed owners and become an ordinary little furniture store. Yet as I walked through it, the memories became so familiar that, for a moment, I forgot where I was.
I became tired.
I looked at one of the display beds and said to my friends, “You could almost go to sleep here.”
Then I did.
I lay down, turned off the bedside lamp, and began drifting off to sleep.
A moment later, the owner walked over.
He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t offended. He simply asked, “What’s going on?”
Suddenly, still in my dream, I woke up.
Of course. This wasn’t my bedroom. It wasn’t my parents’ house. It was another man’s store, in the middle of a business day. People were shopping. The owner wasn’t protecting his pride. He was simply caring for the order of his store.
I felt embarrassed in front of my friends. I stood up immediately, turned the light back on, apologized, and walked outside.
As I did, I realized something that lingered long after I woke up.
For a few moments, my sense of belonging had quietly overstepped reality.
<!–
–>
Our home in Altamira, where we raised our daughters.
<!–
–>
When Familiarity Becomes Assumption
I’ve thought about that dream several times since.
I wasn’t trying to do anything wrong.
I wasn’t trying to take advantage of anyone.
I had simply become so comfortable with old memories that I forgot where I really was.
Perhaps all of us do that from time to time.
Not only with people.
Not only with places.
Even with God.
Without realizing it, we can begin living as though life revolves around us instead of around Him.
The opposite of this isn’t shame. It’s awakening. It is remembering that every good gift is still a gift.
Even the happiest childhood is only a glimpse of something greater.
My parents gave me a wonderful home.
But they were never meant to be my final home.
They were pointing me toward Someone else.
Our truest home has never been a place. It has always been with our Father.
Every beautiful home on earth is an invitation to long for the Father’s house.
<!–
–>
A conversation with a neighbor at our current home in Marabá. Sometimes home begins with simply being present.
<!–
–>
David’s Cry Outside the Sanctuary
That is why Psalm 28 touches me so deeply.
David begins with an ache that almost every human heart understands.
“Hear my cry for mercy as I call to You for help, as I lift up my hands toward Your holy sanctuary.”
He is standing outside, and he wants back in.
Outside the peace he once knew.
Outside the sanctuary.
Outside the nearness of God.
What strikes me is that David never explains what happened.
Perhaps that is intentional. Sometimes we know exactly how we got there. Sometimes we honestly do not. Sometimes we are living with wounds we never chose. Whatever brought David to this moment, he refuses to stay there. He lifts his hands toward the sanctuary and cries for mercy.
In Psalm 28, David simply cries:
“If You do not answer me, I am lost.”
That honesty is beautiful.
He doesn’t defend himself.
He doesn’t negotiate.
He lifts empty hands toward God.
Throughout Scripture, open hands become a quiet picture of faith.
Hands that are no longer grasping.
Hands that are ready to receive.
Faith often begins when we stop reaching for control and begin reaching for God.
<!–
–>
Our friends in Portugal designed their home to host meals and share the Good News.
<!–
–>
One Story, Told Again and Again
As I prayed through this Psalm, I began noticing familiar echoes.
Adam and Eve found themselves outside the garden. Cain stood “at the door” and chose to build his own city rather than return to God. Israel worshipped the golden calf instead of waiting for God at Mount Sinai. David cries from outside the sanctuary. The prodigal son finds himself far from home.
Again and again, the story repeats itself.
When people lose their way, many begin constructing substitutes for Eden.
We build lives that promise security.
We build reputations.
We build wealth.
We build comfort.
We even build religion.
Anything that might help us feel at home again.
David chooses a different path. He doesn’t build.
He cries.
He waits.
He trusts that the Father still welcomes children who turn toward Him.
We can spend our lives building substitutes for home, or we can ask God to lead us home.
<!–
–>
We found a street sign that reminded us of home while we were in Portugal earlier this year.
<!–
–>
The Moment Everything Changes
Then, almost unexpectedly, the Psalm turns.
“Blessed be the Lord, because He has heard my cry for mercy.”
We are never told how David knew.
Only that he did.
And then comes one of my favorite sentences in the Psalms.
“The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in Him, and I am helped.”
Notice the order.
God hears.
David trusts.
David is helped.
His heart overflows with joy.
Trust itself seems to awaken as God’s gift.
The child who feared he was outside suddenly discovers he has been welcomed home.
<!–
–>
Deanna enjoys a sunset at our home in Abbotsford.
<!–
–>
From My Strength to Their Strength
Then comes the surprise.
David begins by saying,
“The Lord is my strength.”
Only a few lines later he says,
“The Lord is their strength.”
One little word reveals what grace has done.
The man who came asking for mercy begins praying for others.
The one who has just been carried begins asking God to carry His people.
“Save Your people and Bless Your inheritance; Be their Shepherd also, And carry them forever.”
That may be one of the simplest pictures of spiritual maturity in the entire Bible.
People who know they have been carried begin asking God to carry others.
We never become the Shepherd. We simply learn to trust Him with the people we love.
<!–
–>
The Story Ends Where It Began
The Bible begins with humanity leaving a garden.
It ends with a city.
But it is not a city we built.
It is the city God prepared.
Its gates never close.
Its river never runs dry.
Its Tree of Life bears fruit every month.
Its leaves are for the healing of the nations.
John even tells us that the kings of the earth bring their treasures into the city. He doesn’t explain all that means, and perhaps that is intentional.
I cannot help wondering whether some of the treasures we will bring into God’s presence will be the people we learned to love along the way.
The story that began outside the garden ends with the Father’s house standing open.
<!–
–>
One More Step Toward Home
Perhaps today you feel like David.
Or perhaps you feel a little like I did in that dream.
You know something isn’t quite right.
You can’t fully explain it.
You simply know that your heart longs for home.
Whatever brought you outside, don’t build your own version of Eden.
The Father’s house is closer than we think.
Lift your hands instead.
The Father still hears those who cry toward His sanctuary.
And when He welcomes you home, and He delights to welcome His children home, you may discover that the greatest miracle is not simply that you have found peace again.
It is that your heart begins praying differently.
“The Lord is my strength…” becomes, “The Lord is their strength.”
Because those who have been carried always begin asking the Shepherd to carry others.
<!–
–>
The girls introduce Lucy and Paul to cream puffs and the taste of special times at home.
<!–
–>
A Prayer
Father,
Thank You for never stopping Your search for Your children.
When we wander, awaken us gently.
When familiarity blinds us, help us see reality again.
Keep us from building substitutes for the home that only You can give.
Teach us to lift empty hands instead of grasping for control.
Whether we wandered outside Your sanctuary ourselves, arrived there through wounds we never chose, or simply do not understand how we got there, carry us home through the mercy of Jesus.
And once we know the joy of being carried, teach us to pray like David, not only for ourselves, but for Your people.
Be our Shepherd. Carry Your inheritance. Carry those we love. And carry us all the way home.
