Where We Love Is Home

Yesterday, we closed the door on the home that my brother and I grew up in; the home that belonged to my parents for 32 years. In a day and age of transience, I fully recognize what a gift we've been given. I'm so thankful that my parents' were willing to set down and establish roots that contributed to their family's sense of belonging and security.

It's no secret that my whole family is pretty sentimental...the original Schmaltz family. While there is great excitement and enthusiasm about all that God holds in store during this next season of life, there was an undeniable dread of this final day. Still, as my husband and boys and I drove out to my parents' home for one last time yesterday, my heart was overwhelmingly peaceful...undoubtedly due to those friends who were praying me through.

My parents' home has always felt warm and welcoming. It's been a haven...a safe place for family, friends, neighbors. But as I walked into the house yesterday, I was struck by the barrenness of it all. The furniture was gone, the pictures packed away. The all-familiar smell of candles burning was strangely absent. It was just a shell.

And that's when it struck me. A home is not those 4 walls of studs...that's a house. A home is people and hearth and memories. Home is faith and values and ministry. And God, in His graciousness, provides a way for us to carry "home" with us wherever we go. Where we love is home.

And so as I walked from room to room one last time, I packed up all those memories and tucked them away in my heart. I started listing them here, but the post got so lengthy and---dare I say---boring to anyone outside of our family. :) But in addition to the lifetime of memories, I thank God for using my parents' home as a beacon...a lighthouse...for Him. Countless people...many of them young teens...passed through their doors and heard that Jesus loves them.

And the ministry that began there 32 years ago will continue, not only in their new home, but in many cases, around the world.