Home is an elusive concept, perhaps only raised by those who feel that they are somehow lacking in it.
Home also tends to be one of those elusive concepts that is never experienced in its presence, only pined for in its absence. Who, while at home, speaks of home?
This perhaps reveals that one aspect of human nature (if speaking about such a thing is possible) is that we are very melancholy creatures, always longing for what we don’t have while ignoring what we do in fact possess.
Some might be quick to call this ingratitutde, but I think that that’s an overly hasty diagnosis. I think that this disquiet speaks to a fundamental human need, the search for something larger than ourselves. As a Christian, there is a sense in which I am never completely at home in this world. This does not give me license to denigrate or ignore the world I live in, but helps me to see that my life in this world is a pilgrimage towards home.