A House or a Home?

We traveled back to Michigan this past week to visit family and finish up cleaning out the farm house where Marty was raised, and her dad lived all his life. He never lived in any other home. The last time he laid down to sleep was in the room where he was born. Quite a history in that house, but back then, it wasn't a house, it was a home. Marty had been back in April and her siblings and her did a lot of work going through the collection of their parent's lifetime. As the things were sorted, many memories came flooding back. Her parents spent their lives serving and ministering to others. For the first 26 years of their lives, they were never alone in the house. They took care of parents, and other relatives. Theirs was a lifetime of giving to others and serving Jesus.

This time, however, when I entered the house, the dinning room was empty, except for a love seat. As I looked at the now empty house, I said, “The life is gone. This house is dead.” The house had for over 128 years teemed with life, and now it was experiencing something that had never happened to it since it was built, it was empty, devoid of live, purpose, meaning. Not that an object can really have meaning, it represented meaning in the lives of those who lived there. The life was gone. So much meaning 6 months ago, now, nothing.

Is my life making a difference? Does my house have life? Is it a home? Or just some sticks and drywall? What about my life? What is it? Do people see Jesus in me? Without that, what do we have?