A home.

I love our home in Iloilo. It is a big airy home with bright rooms that seem to catch every breeze that passes by, and breezes are very valuable here in the Philippines. We have a welcoming receiving hallway that leads into a bright and open living room. We have a large dining room, with a huge table, enough seating for eight. The kid's bedrooms are upstairs and our family/TV room is also upstairs. The house is not really our home, it belongs to my Lola who will eventually will it to her son, my Uncle Ed.

We do not own a home in the United States. When my children are older, there will be no home of their youth for them to visit. No home where they had their many birthday parties, Christmas mornings, etc. There will be no hometown for them to visit, with memories of elementary school playgrounds and high school sports fields.

A part of me regrets this. A part of me wishes we would have a somewhat normal or traditional life in the U.S. with a home to raise our kids in, a place to watch them grow, a place for them to come to and feel instantly comfortable, a place full of happy memories. It seems that our destiny will be of many different places to call home, perhaps in different countries all of the world, or at least in different parts of Asia. When Eric comes "home" from college during a break, I have no idea where that "home" will be. It could be in yet another country we will be missionaries in, some other far away land.

While I am a bit saddened by this, I am reminded that this Earth really is not my home. Our home is Heaven. We are just passing through. I truly believe that death is a homecoming, where we go to the place the Lord has been preparing for us, just as He promised in the Gospel of John. Indeed, rather than spend a lifetime building a home for my family, I feel it is our destiny to build God's kingdom on this earth. Rather then focus our energies and finances on earthly treasures, as wonderful as they can be, I feel we are instead laying up for ourselves treasures in Heaven.