Traveling Home: Finding God in the Middle of the Journey
Have you ever gone back somewhere that used to feel like home, only to discover that it feels different?
Maybe the place has changed.
Maybe the people have changed.
Or maybe you've changed.
And suddenly you realize that you can't quite return to the life you remember.
There's something tender about that realization.
Because home is such a rich word.
It carries so much longing inside of it.
Home is about feeling safe.
Being known.
Having somewhere you can go where you don't have to pretend or prove anything.
Somewhere you can simply be yourself.
Somewhere you can exhale.
And perhaps that's why we spend so much of our lives trying to find it.
When We Finally Get There
We have a way of imagining that home is waiting for us somewhere in the future.
When the move is finally over.
When the family settles down.
When life becomes a little more manageable.
When things stop changing so much.
Then I'll feel at home.
Then I'll finally be able to relax.
We tend to imagine that once we arrive at the right place, or reach the right season of life, we'll finally experience that sense of being settled.
But the ending of the Exodus story offers us a surprisingly different picture.
A Home in the Wilderness
We've been spending the last several weeks reflecting on the story of Leaving Egypt.
And today, as we finish this journey, we come to Exodus 40.
You might expect the story to end with God's people finally arriving in the Promised Land.
After everything they've been through, surely that's where home begins.
But that's not where Exodus ends.
The Israelites are still in the wilderness.
They haven't arrived at their destination.
They haven't settled into the life they've been traveling toward.
They're still on the journey.
And yet, something remarkable happens.
The people build a tabernacle, a tent for worship.
And Scripture tells us that God's glory fills it.
God makes a dwelling among people who are still traveling.
A home in the wilderness.
Not after the journey is finished.
Not once everything is settled.
Right there, in the middle of it.
A Dwelling Place That Moves
Throughout the wilderness journey, God's presence accompanies the people.
The cloud and the fire are with them.
When they move, God's presence goes with them.
When they stop, God's presence remains with them.
It's a dwelling place that moves.
And there's something deeply comforting about that.
Because it means home isn't simply a destination.
It isn't only a particular house or city or familiar arrangement of life.
Home is wherever we learn to live in the presence of God.
Even when we're still traveling.
Even when we're uncertain.
Even when the life we expected hasn't quite arrived.
God's presence isn't waiting for us at the end of the journey.
God is with us along the way.
When You Can't Go Back
Of course, this doesn't mean that change is easy.
Sometimes the places we love are gone.
Sometimes someone we love dies.
Sometimes the familiar shape of our lives changes in ways we never would have chosen.
And sometimes we discover that the life we remember simply can't be recovered.
There's real grief in that.
And God's presence doesn't erase those losses.
They're still losses.
We can still miss what was.
We can still wish something had turned out differently.
We can still feel the ache of a place or a person or a season that once felt like home.
But perhaps we can also begin noticing something else.
God with us in what is now.
Not instead of the grief.
Not as a way of pretending the loss doesn't matter.
But right alongside it.
We can miss what was and still begin to recognize the presence of God in the life we're living today.
Learning to Notice Home
Maybe finding home begins with learning to notice where we're being met with love.
And that can happen in wonderfully ordinary ways.
Sometimes it's over a cup of coffee with someone who lets us be honest.
Someone who doesn't need us to have everything figured out.
Someone who listens and makes room for us to simply be ourselves.
Sometimes it's in prayer.
A quiet moment when we stop trying to manage everything and allow ourselves to receive God's care.
Sometimes it's on a walk.
We finally stop rehearsing all the things we need to do or the things we wish had happened differently.
We look around.
We notice where we are.
And for a moment, we can simply say:
Oh. Here.
Right here.
This is where I am.
Perhaps there's an invitation in those moments.
To become quiet enough to receive the love that's already meeting us.
To recognize that God's presence isn't confined to the places we've left behind or the places we're hoping to reach.
God is with us here.
Becoming a Place of Exhale
And there's another beautiful part of this invitation.
When we begin receiving that sense of welcome and belonging, we have something to share.
Because there are people all around us who are longing for a place to exhale, too.
People who want to feel safe.
People who want to be known.
People who need somewhere they can be honest.
And sometimes we get to become that kind of place for someone else.
Not necessarily by doing something extraordinary.
Sometimes it's simply listening.
Learning someone's name.
Inviting someone to the table.
Making room for their questions.
Offering a little more welcome.
A little more patience.
A little more space to be themselves.
When we receive God's welcome, we can begin extending that welcome to others.
And in that way, the experience of home becomes something we share.
Two Questions for the Journey
As we finish this Leaving Egypt series, there are two questions worth carrying with us.
Where can you pause and notice God's presence today?
Maybe it's in a conversation.
Maybe it's in prayer.
Maybe it's in a quiet moment outside.
Maybe it's somewhere you haven't thought to look.
And then:
Who could experience a little more belonging because of you?
Who might need someone to listen?
Who might need an invitation?
Who might need a place where they can be honest without feeling judged?
These are simple questions.
But perhaps they're the kinds of questions that help us keep practicing the life God invites us into.
The Journey Continues
Over these past weeks, we've reflected on fear.
We've talked about identity.
We've explored daily trust and the manna God provides for today.
And now we've come to this question of home.
But these aren't invitations we simply finish and move beyond.
They're invitations we return to.
Again and again.
Because there's always more to receive.
Always more to practice.
Always another opportunity to live a little more deeply in God's love.
And wherever we find ourselves on that journey, we can remember this:
God is with us.
God is in us.
God is for us.
Today and every day.
So may you find room to exhale.
May you loosen your tight grip on control and ease into God's care.
May you discover that home isn't only somewhere you're trying to get.
It's something you can begin receiving right where you are.
And may you help someone else feel at home, too.
May you become, for someone else, a place of exhale.
