Home. "The quiet awareness of being loved," is how a friend of mine described it. She was in her 90s, living alone in her modest home, after a remarkable life devoted to God's service. Her peace and certainty of God's love spoke volumes.

If we're honest, in everyone's heart is a longing for what we feel home should be, even if seems to fall short. The trouble is that it's usually thought of in terms of four p's—property, possessions, people, and place. But in a world where there is so much homelessness and dispossession, where refugees are being uprooted from their homelands, where family care may have failed, and fixed points in life have disappeared, home has to be something more. It has to be something within us to be permanent.

An inspiring expression of this came from the pen of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the young German Christian imprisoned for his resistance to the Nazi regime, and finally executed for his faith. From his cell he wrote that home "is a kingdom of its own in the midst of the world, a stronghold amid life's storms and stresses, a refuge, even a sanctuary. It is not founded on the shifting sands of outward or public life, but it has its peace in God, for it is God who gives it its special meaning and value, its own nature and privilege, its own destiny and dignity. It is an ordinance of God in the world, the place in which—whatever may happen in the world—peace, quietness, joy, love, purity, discipline, respect, obedience, tradition, and, with it all, happiness may dwell" (A Testament to Freedom, Harper San Francisco, Paperback 1995).

Bonhoeffer found this sense of home within himself, when his outward circumstances couldn't have been less homelike. He was able to express a sense of joy in his daily life in prison that reflected the same "quiet assurance of being loved" that my friend spoke about. This is a homeland that can never be invaded, where you can never be dispossessed, a spiritual kingdom that is present wherever you might find yourself. It can never be left behind with aching longing, or be out of reach on some interminable road ahead. It's the awareness of God with us, here and now.

Mary Baker Eddy loved and appreciated home. Her childhood home was very dear to her, but after marrying and moving away, her life journey took her through decades of uncharted waters during which settled centers for home and affection were short-lived. From 1872 to 1875, when she was writing and testing the ideas in her book Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, she moved approximately 20 times—and probably more, because she also said that the chair in which she wrote her book was moved to eight different houses in as many months in 1874 alone!

I think she would have appreciated a well-loved story about the little boy whose family was constantly on the move. When asked why they didn't have a home, he replied, "Oh, we have a home—we just don't have a house to put it in." A similar thought is expressed in Jesus' words, "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head" (Matt. 8:20).

However, the difficult years developed in Mary Baker Eddy a deeper and more permanent sense of home. As she told members of her household in later years: "Home is not a place but a power. We find home when we arrive at the full understanding of God. Home! Think of it! Where sense has no claims and Soul satisfies" (Irving Tomlinson, Twelve Years Mary Baker Eddy, Amplified Edition, 1996, p. 211). Although by that time she had the house of warmth and beauty that she'd dreamed of in earlier years, her sense of home was evolving. The evolution was a spiritual one, as the basis of her thought moved from sense to Soul. It involved fewer possessions and maximum order in the running of her household so as to leave her free for the work God had given her to do.

Jesus' unique, world-changing ministry had to be accomplished in three short years, and in his case this was only possible with no material ties at all. His home in God, however, was with him wherever he went. As he explained to his disciples: "In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also" (John 14:2, 3). I've often thought that all the qualities of home—hospitality, welcome, and care—are expressed in that "place," not just for time, but for eternity. What assurance this gives of our home in God, now and forever.

Through the years there come times when a sense of home has to be reestablished. A young student friend of ours found himself in a university town notorious for its lack of accommodation. The room he thought was going to be his for the coming year was suddenly reallocated, and it was late in the day to look elsewhere. While others rushed in every direction searching for lodgings, he found himself being quietly sure that his home would come to him. For many weeks he'd been thinking deeply about these lines:

Our friend continued to give full attention to his academic work, and just as it was completed, a fellow student asked if he would like to share a house with three others for the coming year. It proved to be a perfect home for them all.

Another kind of home transition that can be challenging is for people of senior years who have lived independently but need to move to communal living for extra care. Here the sense of home as something evolving can be a great encouragement. This new expression of home can become a place of growth, of development. I watched a senior member of our family grow in grace as she learned to extend herself to those around her. It wasn't always easy, but photographs show how her expression changed and gentled during those years as she embraced a new sense of home and family.

Perhaps those two things, home and family, are inseparable. The ability to find home within us also enables us to find family wherever we are. And this is a life-adventure that knows no bounds.

When my husband and I were first married, a dear friend provided a generous gift to help us buy our first home. But she gave us more than money. She lifted our concept of home from something we owned to something we could share. She told us she hoped we would think of ourselves as custodians, not proprietors. Everything she gave (and she gave generously to many) carried the tag, "To be used to help people," and a second tag saying, "In due course you can give this gift to others." It was an ongoing development. Home wasn't just bricks and mortar; it was a spiritual idea—not self-serving, but centered in service to God and our neighbor. This wise, gentle friend gave us the vision along with the gift, and set us on a path that was to expand through the years.

From then on, our homes almost always included a number of friends and visitors from around the world in addition to our own family. Some came for one night and stayed for several years; but they came, and left when they needed to, and the timing was always just right. We realized this lifestyle wasn't for everyone, but in a world where home and family can be hard to come by—especially for young people on their own—we chose to interpret our friend's vision in this way. And God gave us a wonderful extended family!

During this time we learned much about home. We weathered economic recessions—when it seemed almost impossible to move house, or to afford what we needed. We had to be patient with repairs and alterations, knowing that the quality of the life we lived was more important than glossy fixtures and fittings. But those "elastic" walls kept on expanding to make room for those who needed to share our home, and each one brought new dimensions to our view of God's universal family.

Through experiences like these, I've learned that as changes take place in the shape of our lives, we find ourselves in new situations, with new demands and opportunities. But whether our lot is to live as simply as a nomad in a tent, or in the complexity of a modern city, the home that never changes is the one within us. It's our home in God, blessed by that "quiet awareness of being loved." css