I'm pleased to say we managed to get away on holiday this summer down to Cornwall. This was the second time in three years that we had decided to spend a week in a caravan and it was a good decision. At least until the night of the storm. I kept reminding myself (each time I woke up in the night) that the caravan was anchored to the concrete base beneath us and that they make these mobile homes very well these days.
It must have felt similar on a wooden ship crossing the sea centuries ago as the very frame of our temporary home creaked and yawned as its sub frame was twisted and turned by the huge force of the winds outside. Yet, we survived and awoke to find we were still in the same county. When we arrived home, several days later, I sighed a sigh of relief to be back in familiar surroundings and in the comfort of a house with no wheels.
But I missed being in the caravan after a while; it appealed to the traveller in me, the Toad of Toad Hall in me if you like. Who wants to be comfortable all the time anyway? Where's the fun in that? And yet, I often find myself wanting to be comfortable above all else. If only I could travel and be at home at the same time combining both longings.
Jesus said, 'the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head', but He took comfort from His relationships with the Father and the Holy Spirit such that the Trinity was His home and He carried that reality with Him everywhere He went. Our new tortoise, Zerubbabel, carries his home everywhere he goes and it reminds me of the need to find our real home, our rest, in God Himself. He goes with us and is always present providing comfort and protection even when we fail to recognize it.
When God calls us out of our material and spiritual comfort zones, as He often does, He goes with us and covers us in all weathers. He is our home.