Feels Like Home

Where ever we lived when growing – in Clinton or Watonga, Oklahoma – whenever someone knocked at the door, I can hear Mom’s voice, “Come on in. It is so good to see you. Make yourselves at home.”

Whether it was one of the servicemen we picked up at Christmas time who became fast friends, or family, or friends, the greeting was always the same. “Make yourselves at home!”

The preparation was detailed for expected guests – every inch of the house was cleaned. Mom baked bread, and the fresh scent of bread added to the welcome. Homemade pies appeared. Sometimes roast and potatoes, more often beans and ham – but whatever it was, it was served with a “make-yourself-at-home” smile.

When I went to Midwest Christian College, and simply passed through with a group, our house was a routine stopping place for students and professors. After the college years, I heard about the professors continuing their stop in Watonga. Often when they needed car repairs, advice or something to eat.

One of my favorite memories is when J Russell Morse came to Watonga Christian Church. He came to tell about the mission work in Lisu-Land (where Tibet, China and India met, and Burma). Russell Morse professed tiredness and Dad agreed, too. They drove to our house, and walked in the south garden, talking. Both of these men loved the Lord and both loved growing fruit trees and flowers. Later Russell Morse died and later in 1979, Dad died. The scene in my mind comforts me. Dad and Russell Morse are walking and talking in God’s beautiful garden. They were both at home in the earthly garden and are at home in the heavenly garden.

As a child, feeling at home had many pictures. Love and trust in our parents. Encouragement to learn, help with chores, and getting along with each other. Our creative gifts were developed and encouraged. My brother, Gene, played the trumpet, my older brother, Jim, played the clarinet. I learned piano from Mom. Practice was a daily affair – a musical home – not from ipods or cd’s. It was home, and if we made a mistake in music or life, we tried again. Giving up was not an option.

Back in the 1930’s, sleep-overs were not part of the social scene. We couldn’t imagine sleeping elsewhere – it wasn’t home. We had our space, and knew what was expected. It was home. Home was where we heard Dad’s voice at the evening meal, Komm Herr Jesu, sei unser Gast, und segne, was du uns bescheret hast. (Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest and bless what you have bestowed on us.)

What makes it feel like home? Unconditional love, forgiveness, encouragement, support and safety. It isn’t the ownership of things that rust or corrupt or can be stolen. Or fine food or clothes or the latest fad. It is the blessing of belonging and being who I am, without pretense. It is being loved and forgiven when I disobey.

Where is that home, sweet home? It is in the heart.

It‘s your smiling face It’s the way you wrap your arms

In this comfortable place Around me, that disarms me

That feels like home. That feels like home.

It’s the hurts you heal I never have to pretend

That makes it real With my closest friend

And feels like home. You Feel Like Home.

How long will home last? I’m home where I can share

Will it soon be passed? Jesus’ love and care

Oh, it Feels like home. He makes it Feel like Home

Jesus gave His Life for me With Him, it feels like home.

So I could live eternally For me, it feels like home

Where I feel at home. Where there is love and trust

Where it Feels like Home!

What are the sweetest words in the world? “I’m going home.”

John 14: 1-3 – “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God[a]; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.

Goin’ home, goin’ home, I’m a goin’ home

Quiet like, still some day, I’m just goin’ home

It’s not far, just close by, through an open door

Work all done, care laid by Going to fear no more

Mother’s there, expecting me Father’s waiting too

Lots of folks gathered there All the friends I knew

Goin’ home, I’m a goin’ home.

Comments? eacombs@eacombs@cox.net