Probably the most difficult part of deputation so far has been not having a home. The missionary housing we're staying in right now has become familiar enough that we catch ourselves every once in a while saying, "When we get home, we'll do such and such." Or Niki and I will tell the kids, "Wait until we get home, then you can have this or that." Then that sinking feeling comes back: this isn't home. In a few weeks, we won't even be living here. We have no place to call home. We're missionaries to France who still live in the States. We're strangers. Foreigners. Nomads.
Last night, I was thinking briefly about how strange it is to not have a permanent place of residence. Then I remembered that, Biblically, we're not to think of this world as home. As citizens of Heaven, any where we live is only temporary. One day we'll go home, but until then we're all just resident foreigners who are left here as ambassadors of God's Kingdom until we're called home. It made me feel better to remember that.
This morning during my quiet time, I read in Matthew 8 where Jesus was healing people left and right. Multitudes were coming to Him for His miracles. Souls were being saved. Lives were being changed. Incredible reports were being spread all over Israel about Jesus and His incredible ministry. Some decided that they wanted to get on board with the glamorous life of this great new teacher. One man rushed to Jesus in the midst of all this excitement and professed His undying devotion. "Lord, I'll follow you wherever you go!" Then Jesus looked at Him and said, "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head."
Then, it hit me. Jesus had no home. God always provided a place for Jesus to sleep. He would often stay as a guest with local believers. Sometimes, He just slept under the stars. By referring to the foxes' dens and the birds' nests