What is home?
Five weeks ago, I set off for a holiday down south in Surrey, Cornwall and Tresco in the Scillie Isles. I had a lovely time with friends and exploring new places.
Unfortunately, both my friend and I tested positive for Covid the evening before we were due home. We had driven back to Scotland from Cornwell, stopping off at Wells and Preston. Both of us had symptoms of cold, but never suspected Covid. My friend very kindly decided to get us home as quickly as possible and drove us back the next day. Soon, I was safely in my own bed where I would remain for the next ten days of isolation. How wonderful it was to be home and to be snug in my own bed!
It was during one of the storms that raged earlier in the year that I first started to think about the concept of “home”. The questions that went through my mind were ones like “What do we mean when we say home?”, “Is it the country of one’s birth or the place where one now lives?”, “Is it the house in which we live?” or “Is it the place where one’s parents live?” My dictionary has several definitions for “home” and includes not only the above examples, but also sporting terms and the concept of an institution. Maybe there is no definitive answer and that home means different things to different people.
While snuggled up in bed listening to the wind howling a gale outside, I found myself grateful for a bed and a duvet in a bedroom in a secure house. I had been reading the story of Noah and the ark and wondered whether the ark became home for Noah and his family. After all, the ark was a haven that protected Noah, his wife, their three sons and their wives from the storm and lifted them safely above the flood waters. According to the story in Genesis (chapters 7 and 8) it also confined them to living in close quarters with one another for a year. The family would have been busy – feeding themselves and all the animals, cleaning out the muck and looking after the well-being of all – but was it enough to keep them from falling out with each other? It reminded me of the card game we played when I was a kid – Happy Families – and the set of cards inherited from Tom’s mother which depict rather “unhappy” looking families.
Of course, while ever so grateful for a comfortable home, I am conscious that there are many folk without anywhere to call home. This includes not only those who sleep rough in all weathers, but also all those displaced by war, famine, natural disaster or violence. A survey done in December last year by Shelter UK* showed that one in every 206 people in England is currently without a home. Of these, 2,700 people are sleeping rough on any given night, nearly 15,000 single people in direct access hostels and nearly 250,000 people are living in temporary accommodation – most of whom are families. These figures are of course much higher in many other countries, but they are alarmingly high for a so-called first-world country. In case one is tempted to dismiss the homeless as having brought it on themselves, I can recommend an amazing book by Raynor Winn called “The Salt Path”. I am sure that many of you will have read it, but if you haven’t, please do.
Is a house a home? During my lifetime, I have lived in 9 different houses, 4 flats, University residences and had two longish spells in “boarding houses”. I don’t remember being unhappy in any of them, because, to me, they were a haven where I felt secure. There was always a bed where I could curl up with a book and disappear into another world. Although I used to refer to my parents’ house as “home”, my own space and place was really where I felt happiest. I enjoyed living on my own. So much so, that I used to think that I would never get married. Then Tom came along and together we made a new home. Tom always had a strong attachment to the place where he grew up, possibly because there was only one house that was his home for more than 30 years. Apart from that house, Scotland was also “home” for him and I knew when I married him that he would return to the UK on his retirement. On the other hand, I don’t associate the actual buildings with the idea of “home”, nor do I regard South Africa as “home”. For me “home” is somewhere where I can be myself. It is a place of retreat and security. Even as I write this, I am filled with gratitude that I have always had a place that is a haven. However, I am very aware that there are many people, particularly women and children, for whom home is a place of abuse, violence and fear. Thank God for the charities and social workers that give help and hope in these situations. My uncle used to say the following grace before meals: “Bless O Lord, this food to our use, And us to thy loving service; And make us ever mindful of the needs of others, For Jesus’ sake. Amen.” As a child it always puzzled me that he should pray “and never mind the others”! I hope that I shall be ever mindful of the needs of others and not grow so comfortable that I forget those that that are in need of a safe home.
In the Old Testament we read of David singing this song:
The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the strength of my salvation. He is my stronghold, my refuge and my saviour.
2 Samuel 22:2,3
I am grateful for the faith that assures me that I am never alone and that I too can find God to be my refuge and strength. I do believe that someday, I will be truly “at home”.
Great post Marlene. I am sorry your lovely holiday ended with COVID. Earl and I got ill after a family weekend away too. Our grandson tested positive so we blame him. You’re so right about home. It is certainly where one makes it and hopefully ones heart is there too. We are indeed lucky to have always had safe havens at all stages of our lives. My favourite home is my caravan😉
Lovely Marlene. Glad you’ve emerged from the covid fog. Xx