This is the house my dad grew up in. We went back the other day just to see it again. Right now we have reason to think about houses and what they mean. Living in two houses at the same time makes you do that. So I don't know what this house meant to my dad, really; but I know what our house here at home means to us these days.
The house we're to be living in over at the job is a new, nice enough house. But it is full of others' things and it isn't ours. So we're going to be grateful for a place to call home those few days every week and we're NOT going to complain. Got that?
I just feel a little displaced right now, even though we have the stone house, the cabin, and now a job house. It's kind of messing with my mind, I guess. The stranger and pilgrim concept is growing on us by leaps and bounds. That song I Need No Mansion Here Below keeps running through my head.
It isn't the houses we live in, but who we ARE in Christ that matters. Any chair and table in the early morning hour should be sufficient for a place to have quiet time and coffee, right? Any kitchen to make a good meal, any dining place to sit as a family around the supper table, any sitting room we can still have family time, right?