This weekend, my kids are coming home. For a precious 36 hours I should have all 5 of my kids in the same place at the same time. I cannot wait. I doubt they can understand my anticipation because I can barely understand it myself. What exactly will it look like for them to be all here? Something special? No, not really. Actually, I hope it looks very normal. I expect to see unpacked bags in the living room, bagels left out on the counter and wet towels on the floor of the bathroom. I will be barely able to follow a conversation as each one speaks over the other and their volume has to increase with each story told. I see the TV on, the iPhones in their hands demanding their attention and they will try to scramble out of here to meet friends, not holding the visit sacred.
But it isn’t really sacred. It is home. It is supposed to be comfortable, casual and feel just like a warm fleece bathrobe after a bubble bath. I hope they walk into this house and breathe a sigh of relief. Not noticing anything special, but just noticing home.
My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.–Isaiah 32:18